


Undeniable

by zurimadison



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Archaeology, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, BAMF Hermione Granger, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Mystery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25682464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zurimadison/pseuds/zurimadison
Summary: AU Romione. 12 years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Ron is an Auror strategist and Hermione is a magical archaeologist. "With her hands on her hips, flyaway curls framing her face, and furious features focused only on him, waiting expectantly for his answer, Ron was forcibly reminded of why he had spent so much time when he was younger trying to make her angry. She was beautiful." COMPLETE.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 30
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love Romione, so there's never enough good ones as far as I'm concerned! These first couple of chapters will help set us up for the more substantial plot described in the summary. Bear with me on this, I hope to set up a nice slow burn for y'all.
> 
> Full disclosure, I have not written anything, fanfiction or otherwise, in over a decade. While I am so excited about this little fic, and in getting back into writing, I can't pretend that this will be amazing- so please be understanding of my learning curve here. I also do not have a beta (is that still a thing?) so I am always open to all kinds of feedback! Let me know what you think of it.

Ron- Seven years after the Battle of Hogwarts  
____

"Harry, your 9 o'clock!" Harry ducked the curse sent flying towards his head just in time, and fired back a stunning spell before throwing himself behind a dumpster. He looked up at Ron and grimaced.

"That was a close one. Thanks mate."

"Don't thank me yet." Ron whispered furiously, peering carefully over the top of the container. His trained gaze quickly assessed the scenario in the abandoned warehouse. "I don't believe it." He ducked back down, looking at his partner with wide eyes. "Harry, all four of them are here."

"What?! Seriously?" Ron nodded. Harry took a deep, calming breath. "This is our chance, Ron."

"I know."

They shared another significant glance. Ron looked around the warehouse again, gauging the positions of their four attackers based on the trajectories of the spells bouncing around them. "Right," he turned to Harry, "two of them are on higher ground. If we stay here, they'll quickly have us surrounded. When is backup coming?"

"They're not." He looked at Harry, who shook his head. "I'm sorry, the comms broke. We can apparate out of here, but we can't call for help. I could try a Patronus, but it's hard to say how long that would take and it would give us away completely."

"Right." Ron said again. Pressed flat up against the dumpster, he closed his eyes and ran through all the maneuvers from their training, while Harry released Decoy Detonators, trying to buy some time. Finally, Ron murmured, "you need to keep them distracted. I'll circle around and see if I can pick some off."

Harry shook his head. "You know I can't let you do that alone, mate. It's way too dangerous."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we're never in danger are we?" As if on cue, a blasting curse ricocheted to the side of the dumpster, blowing a hole in the concrete and spraying them with rubble.

"Why can't I do it then?" Harry protested. Ron just leveled his glare at him. Harry sighed, and answered his own question. "Because I'm Harry Potter, and they're not here for you are they?"

"Right in one."

Harry extended his hand, which Ron shook solemnly. "Be careful, see you on the other side."

Ron nodded once and turned around, quickly sinking into the shadows. Harry sucked in a deep breath and bellowed, "Oi! Dolohov! Have you ever heard of Storm Troopers? Because we need to talk about your aim."  
____

"Another round for the Auror heroes!" A frothy pint of beer splashed down in front of Ron, who accepted it gratefully and took a drink. After he and Harry had split up in the warehouse, he'd managed to sneak around and stun two of their attackers. By then, it was a more than fair fight, and he and Harry were able to easily bring all four fugitives in.

"I can't believe we finally got them all, Ron." Harry was grinning from ear to ear, and Ron had to admit he couldn't stop smiling himself.

"I know. It's been seven long years, but every last Death Eater is now fully accounted for." Even as he said it aloud, he could barely process it. As soon as they'd heard the news, the rest of the Aurors on their shift insisted on celebratory drinks for the two war heroes.

"Cheers mate." They clinked glasses and drank, both relishing in the milestone. They passed the time, and several more beers, laughing and joking with coworkers. Ron could feel the pleasant warmth of the alcohol buzzing through his veins.

"Did you tell Ginny where we are?" he asked Harry.

"I did! She said she would meet us here." Harry pushed his glasses up his nose. "And maybe help us get home if we're too drunk to apparate."

"Let's have another then!" Ron cheered, sloshing his half full beer as he stood up to get a round. A hand appeared on his shoulder, pushing him gently back in his seat.

"Don't bother." Ginny laughed, plopping a drink in front of her brother. "Congrats on the big day, Ron." He saluted, while she turned to Harry, who was beaming at the sight of her.

"Look, it's my wife!" Harry slurred, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her into his lap. He kissed her, and she laughed again.

"Hi Harry. Congrats to you too!"

"Hey Gin," he beamed back at her. "Thank you. How was training?"

"Exhausting." She said, disentangling herself from her husband slightly to sit in the booth next to him. "Gwenog's trying to give Oliver a run for his money as the most zealous Quidditch captain. But forget that," she said, suddenly excited, "you two will never guess who I ran into on my way in!"

"Tonight?" Ron asked, confused, "who?"

But they were saved the trouble of guessing, as the subject in question appeared at their table, clutching two more mugs of beer.

"Hermione!" Harry and Ron both exclaimed happily, jumping up and pulling her into hugs.

"Hey guys," she said enthusiastically, hugging them in return. "Oh, I've missed you all." She settled into the booth beside Ron. He closely examined her deep brown, thoughtful eyes, noting that she looked happy, and was as beautiful as always.

"What are you doing here?" Ron asked her gently. "I thought you were in Peru!"

"I was," she said, "we decided to close that site early, so I came back. I have a couple weeks before I go to Mexico to help lead a full discovery excavation."

"Peru?" Harry looked confused. "I thought you were in Asia somewhere?"

"Oh, Harry," Ron tsked in mock disappointment. "She relocated to Peru months ago. You'd know that if you ever bothered to write."

Harry chuckled, "well we can't all be as diligent as you, Auror Weasley." He slung an arm around Ginny and leaned back in his seat. "I can't imagine you're much better. Last I checked you were a terrible penpal."

"Ron and I usually write at least once a week, actually," Hermione said affectionately. "Have done since my first dig." She smiled up at him teasingly. "I guess I should have moved away sooner."

"Oi!" Ron exclaimed. "We spend a decent amount of time away from home as well, don't we Harry? You don't get all the credit, Granger."

"We do," Harry nodded agreeably. "We were in Germany for 6 months last year."

"See-"

"So why are you here tonight, Hermione?" Ginny interrupted. All three stopped talking to look at her, shocked. Harry started shaking with silent laughter. "Not that we're not happy to see you!" She amended, slightly abashed. "I mean, we love seeing you! I just mean... what are the odds that I ran into you at the door here? Why didn't you tell us you were coming back?"

"Oh," Hermione said, "well, I only got in today, and the decision to come back was rather last minute. I was actually meeting someone else here tonight. I was going to owl you all tomorrow!" She added defensively at Ginny's slowly raising eyebrows.

"Suuuuuuure, likely story." Ron snorted and Hermione had the decency to blush a little.

"Who were you meeting?" Harry asked conversationally.

"Jeremy," Hermione said solemnly. "I wanted to break up with him in person."

"Ah, there's our girl," Ron grinned. "Breaking hearts all over the world."

"Oh stop it," Hermione rolled her eyes. "I've dated like, three people in the last seven years. Give me a break."

"What was wrong with Jeremy?" Harry asked, looking bewildered. "He seemed nice!"

"Just not a good match," Hermione shrugged. "It was never serious to begin with, at least for my part."

"You haven't been serious with anyone since Chris," Ginny said, again rather abruptly.

"Damn Ginny," Harry scratched his nose, "really coming in hot with the interrogation tonight." Hermione glanced at him gratefully.

Ginny didn't relent. "It's been three years Hermione."

"I know Gin," Hermione said, "I know you're looking out for me, but we can't all meet our soulmates as teenagers." She smiled at them, "you two are lucky, but for me there's no rush."

"Yeah, lay off the poor girl," Ron piped up. "It's hard work dumping people, she doesn't need the added stress of you lot."

"You would know." Ginny shot back, and Ron looked slightly humbled. "I'm just saying Hermione, I'd love to see you in this same blissful arrangement."

"You've been married less than a year," Hermione pointed out.

"And I am very lucky to have my wife." Harry said, nuzzling into Ginny's neck. "Even if she is pushy about other people's business."

"It's why you love me, all of you." Ginny said seriously. Then she beamed at them. "We've missed you, Hermione."

"Seconded" said Harry, draining the last of his beer and looking over at Hermione. "I'm so happy you're back for a little bit!" Then he stood up, taking Ginny by the hand. "Now I'm off to the bar to buy my beautiful wife a drink." Ginny giggled as he led her away.

Hermione scoffed, in good humor. "I can usually tell he's tipsy when he's extra touchy feely with Ginny, but since the wedding he really likes to throw in that wife word for good measure."

Ron grunted. "I'm still getting used to him using that word. I may need to relieve you of your extra drink, to get through this trying time."

Hermione laughed, "I got it for Ginny, but as she's made other arrangements." She pushed the second beer his way.

He grabbed it thankfully, taking a deep swig. He leaned back, stretching his free arm out in the booth behind Hermione.

"So what are we celebrating tonight?" She asked him, moving ever so slightly closer.

He looked at her in surprise. Then cleared his throat. "Ah, well. We got them Mione."

Her eyes widened, and she paused for a second in disbelief. "What? Ron, seriously?"

"Yeah," he looked down, fiddling with his drink. "Yeah, every last one. We brought Dolohov in tonight."

"Ron." He looked up just in time to see her throw her arms around his neck. He appreciatively hugged her back. Her eyes were watering when they pulled away. "This means so much. I am so proud of you, and excited for you."

He let his forehead rest against hers for a second, marveling in how beautiful her dark skin and eyes looked when he was this close. "I know. Thank you."

They stayed like that for a second, but then Hermione pulled back. His arm was still draped across her backrest, and she leaned against it.

"So what's next for you?" She asked him. "The major work of the last seven years is completed. What's up next for the great Ronald Weasley?"

He hesitated, looking down at his mug again. "Erm. Recently I've been thinking…" He wasn't sure how to say it.

"Yes?" When he did look up at her, she was watching him attentively.

"Well, I've been thinking of hanging up my boots, as it were. Move into a more tactical position. Less field work. I've been talking with our boss, Patterson, and he thinks I could be a criminal profiler. I could work on strategy, and spend less time actually fighting."

"Ron, that sounds wonderful for you! Would you miss being in the field?"

"Ah, no." He smiled sadly. "I'm honestly only still there for Harry. I'm worried about how he's going to react to not having me as a partner anymore. We've been through so much."

"But you'll be in the same department still," she said encouragingly. "He'll be happy as long as you are happy."

"Do you reckon I'll be any good at it?" He blurted the question out sincerely, and was so exposed that for a second, he felt he was that same insecure teenager. He averted his gaze from hers and mumbled, "all I've ever known is field work."

"Ok beat-McGonagall's-chess-board-at-age-eleven," she said, resting her hand on his forearm. Their bodies, as if gravitated together, were again only inches apart. He looked at her beaming face. "You'll be wonderful, Ron."

He smiled down at her. She was so close he could see her every eyelash. "Thanks Mione."

"Anytime, Weasley." She smiled at him, then spoke up, "we've established Harry's tell. Do you want to know how I can tell when you're tipsy?" She nudged her shoulder against his playfully.

He laughed. "Go on, how's that then?"

"You flirt with me more." She giggled at the shocked look on his face.

"My, my, Granger, Peru has certainly made you bolder."

She giggled again, but then looked at him seriously. "You also flirt with me more when one or both of us is single." At these words, he sighed and leaned back in the booth.

After a pause he asked her, "how'd you know?"

She shrugged. "Ginny's comment about you dumping people."

He muttered something under his breath about where Ginny could stick her comments, then cleared his throat. "Erm, yeah, it's true, Heather and I broke up."

Hermione's hand moved from his arm down to his leg. "I'm so sorry Ron. She was sweet, and I know you really loved her."

"I did," he said simply. "And she did. We talked about getting married. But there was something just deep in my gut. I don't know, Mione," he shook his head. "I don't know what it is, but she wasn't it. And once I realized that, I couldn't unrealize it. I loved her enough to tell her the truth."

"You did the right thing." She squeezed his leg gently, encouragingly.

"It feels terrible though. She understood, but it broke both our hearts, and we're definitely not ever going to be just friends." He sighed again, reflecting. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, her hand absently tracing lightly on his thigh. Unsure if he was fueled by this feather light touch or the liquid courage streaming through him, he suddenly asked her a question that he'd always hesitated to ask her before, "what about you? Did you love Chris?"

She looked slightly taken aback, but then paused to consider her answer. "Yes, I did. But I was young." She turned to look at him. "He was the first person I met out of school, at that dig in Egypt, you know. After… after everything."

He did know. They'd been just kids, gone through hell and back in a war they'd had no choice but to fight. They'd kissed once during the Battle of Hogwarts, that was true, but after that, all they had the time and emotional energy for was helping their friends and family heal, and trying to help the entire country move on. They fell asleep every night holding hands, leaning on each other as lifelines, just trying to survive all the trauma. When she got the offer for the research in Egypt, they both knew she would be leaving. He had kissed her goodbye, their second ever kiss, a kiss that neither would forget, but that had been the last time. From then on, it had been seven years of owls, letters, visits, constant support, and never anything more.

Hermione nodded understandingly. "I think Chris and I knew we didn't have a future, so we just tried to tread water for as long as we could. In the end we both prioritized our careers. I don't regret it, but I haven't met anyone since who I've really wanted to spend time with."

"You will," he said confidently, squeezing her shoulder, realizing his arm was fully around her now. "You're wonderful, Mione. It's easy to see."

"Thanks," she smiled. "Sometimes I think… Right person, but wrong time. Timing is so important in these things. You can't force it, even if the person seems perfect, the timing could just be wrong. I don't know." She looked up at him, and he found that somehow he was only inches from her once more. "Do you think that's silly?" She asked softly, "that another time, maybe another place, and that person could have been the one?"

"No," he said, just as quietly. "I think that makes more sense than anything I've heard in a long time."

Harry and Ginny returned to the table, and the evening rolled on pleasantly, patrons slowly leaving and wishing each other good night. Later, as he lay awake in bed remembering, Ron still wasn't sure if Hermione had truly been talking about Chris or not.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came to me as a quick follow to the first, and is also obviously much shorter. I wanted to explore this "long distance" relationship a bit more from Hermione's POV. I know they seem all flirty and fun, but I think we've all had that friend who you don't see often enough to argue with, so it's easy to catch up and flirt, and it's easy to romanticize and always wonder what if. I will try to portray more conflict and flaws when we get into the day to day scenarios. Also, I want to dig into more substantial plot now, so the next update will definitely take a bit longer.
> 
> Thanks for the read, let me know what you think!

Hermione- Eleven years after the Battle of Hogwarts  
____

Deep in the recesses of one of the oldest magical libraries in all of Europe, Hermione yawned and stretched her hands above her head. She was seated at an aged oak table, dusty tomes surrounding her in precarious piles. The soft lighting flickered gently as she rubbed her tired eyes, trying to make sense of the incongruities she kept uncovering about an artifact that she'd recently found. She reached across the table, readjusting a stack of books to access a particularly large one near the bottom, and dragged the textured, faded volume towards herself. She briefly referenced the index, then flipped to the appropriate page. After a few minutes, she let out a noise of frustration and pushed the book away from herself in annoyance. She stood up, pinching the bridge of her nose and trying to run through the list of facts in her mind.

When magicked objects aged thousands and thousands of years, it was common for the magic within them to start decaying and become volatile. Hermione had started in this field to help protect peoples and places that were in danger of unstable old magic blowing up, but she found that she also loved studying the ancient civilizations and in particular, dissecting the old magics to understand their structure and purpose. Some of the work she'd published on the subject had helped to jump start new research surrounding methods and practices in magic that had long since been forgotten or abandoned.

This much she knew. This much was easy. She shook her head and started pacing listlessly around the table.

In the past nine months or so, she'd been steadily encountering old artifacts that, according to her studies, should have held magic. By all calculations, and confirmed by her colleagues, these items should have been magicked... but they just... weren't. She'd uncover them to find them meticulously preserved and alarmingly plain. At first she thought she'd just misunderstood an old text, or miscalculated the relic location, but then it started happening more and more often. It was as though the magics were being harvested, and there was a consensual lack of understanding across the board about how it was happening.

So that begged the question- who was gathering all these old magics? She frowned, turning back to her notes to check them again. That vase should have been enchanted. No ministry in any country had admitted to getting there first. So why was it empty? Stealing old decaying magic wasn't an easy task- Hermione could vouch for that. Who had the resources and knowledge to commit this complex crime once, let alone multiple times?

Biting her lip, she sat back in her chair and looked up at the tall, dusty bookshelves surrounding her. This was more than odd. She was starting to get the sense that something ominous was brewing.  
____

"Hermione Granger. As I live and breathe."

She turned from the portkey departure board she'd been reading, startled that anyone would recognize her in Prague's wizarding travel hub. A tall redhead with striking blue eyes stood grinning a few feet behind her. She took in his broad frame, and the full beard he was sporting on his square jaw, deciding not for the first time that age had thus far been very kind to Ron Weasley. Smiling back, she launched herself at him for a hug, sighing contentedly when he hugged her back just as enthusiastically.

"Ron! What're you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," he laughed. "We have to stop meeting like this."

"Research in the library- they have the only copy of a book on an artifact I recently found, and I wanted to check some details." She pulled back from him slightly, but kept him at arm's length, taking in his freckled face carefully and noting how tired he looked.

"Everything is right in the world," Ron nodded seriously, "when Hermione goes to the library."

She swatted his arm playfully and stepped back further. "But what about you? What brings you to Prague?"

"Here with Czech colleagues to corroborate a high profile criminal file. This guy likes to jump borders so it's required a lot of international cooperation." He rubbed the back of his neck, as if realizing how much he'd just said. "I probably shouldn't talk about it more right now honestly."

"No worries Ron, I get it," she said warmly. "Do you have time for coffee?"

He checked his watch and broke into a huge smile. "Yes Mione, I definitely do."

They chatted as they moved through the crowded station, dodging people sprinting to make their Portkey connections. Hermione explained the anomaly she was investigating, and how everyone in her field was stumped by these unprecedented events.

"So no one knows who could be doing it?" Ron asked, fascinated, after they'd gotten their orders and squeezed into a small corner table in the back of the cafe.

She shook her head. "What's especially interesting though, is that it would need to be someone who has had explicit experience or training in this field, which honestly is a pretty small world once you're in it." She wrapped her hands around her paper coffee cup, feeling the warmth spread to her fingers. "So either the person committing these thefts has taught themselves enormously complicated magic, or..."

"Someone you know is lying," Ron supplied in a low voice.

Heart sinking, she nodded, "and honestly either scenario seems insane to me."

Letting out a short, thoughtful breath, he leaned forward and asked curiously, "and what would be the point in taking the magic?" His eyes seemed to twinkle with intrigue, watching her intently. She liked the feeling, and it made her wonder how it would feel to have those eyes look at her in a very different way.

Instead, she again shook her head. "It's hard to say. The stolen enchantments that I know of are all in various stages of decay. In general, spell corrosion causes expansion, and when it's forcibly contained within an object, pressure builds until it ruptures."

"They explode?" His voice had suddenly shifted slightly, taking on a tone that was sharper, more authoritative. "Big explosions? Destructive explosions?"

"What an oddly specific question." She looked at him, equal parts surprised, impressed, and curious. "If left unchecked, without being properly dispelled, then I suppose yes, they could manifest as quite destructive explosions. It would depend on the type of magic, how old it is, and the level of decay."

"Sure," he nodded graciously, his large hand absently rubbing at his bearded chin. She waited for a follow up, but he seemed content to contemplate this information in silence. They sat for a while, sipping their coffee while Ron drummed his fingers on the table, clearly lost in thought.

"You surprise me Ron," she finally managed.

"Why's that?" He asked, leaning his broad frame back in his chair and smiling in that endearing, lopsided way.

"Asking intelligent, pointed questions. As though you're interested in my work and not bored by my trip to the library."

He snorted, "am I not usually intelligent, then?"

Hermione shrugged offhandedly, "do you really want me to answer that?"

For just a second, Ron looked so shocked by her response that she laughed out loud. Then he shot her a grin, and reached across the table to carefully tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. He lingered close to her face and whispered, "you'll want to watch that pretty mouth, Ms. Granger, I know several ways to incapacitate a woman with my bare hands, if the circumstances require." A shiver she didn't altogether dislike slid down her spine, and he smirked at her as though he knew exactly why.

They parted ways shortly after that, with promises to write and talk soon. If Hermione had known the exact circumstances of when she'd next see Ron Weasley, she might not have been so eager for that time to arrive.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really excited about this one! :) Leave me a review!

Ron- Twelve years after the Battle of Hogwarts  
_____

Sipping a fresh cup of coffee, Ron looked out over the rolling heather and foggy crests of the Scottish moors. The sun was just beginning to rise, striking out as a vibrant orange over the countryside. A sharp wind cut through his clothes, making him grumble sleepily and pull his robes tighter around himself. He yawned and took another drink of his coffee.

"Weasley," came a gruff voice from behind him, "are you ready?" Ron turned around, the view now much less pleasant to behold. A cavernous hole confronted him, blown into the side of a hill. Nearly thirty meters across, it extended almost as deeply and was littered with debris. He grunted, finishing his coffee and sourly reflecting that at least it wasn't as big as the crater they'd investigated four months ago.

"How did we learn about this one?" He ducked into the small, makeshift tent that had been constructed when they'd arrived on site, and which they used as a temporary office space while investigating. The inside was sprawling: large bulletin boards overlapping with moving photographs, maps stuffed full of pins, chalkboards of moving diagrams, desks stacked with books and scrolls, and Ron thought he counted at least three other people moving around in the space.

His boss was a short, squat man with no hair and a handlebar mustache, standing with his hands behind his back and inspecting one of the maps closely. As Ron approached him, Patterson responded, "we received intel from the druids in the very early hours of the morning. They also report that they were in this area yesterday afternoon, placing the time of the incident somewhere between 5pm and midnight."

This unexplained cavity was yet another in a long line that Ron's team had been asked to examine over the past year or so. Six months before that, the Ministry had started getting reports of minor, unexplainable signs. A loud noise, a large burst of light, the heat of a fire felt many miles off, small pits in places where there hadn't been any before. The Ministry chalked it up to accidental magic at first, then pranksters blowing things up for fun. But the destruction got bigger, and the evidence was harder to ignore. The Ministry began escalating, involving more teams, trying to isolate the cause. By the time Ron was officially involved, the theories had become wilder: anything from obscurious, to dragon wars, to You-Know-Who himself back from the grave.

"All the same indicators?" He asked his boss.

"Yeah," Patterson gestured at the map, "No pattern to the location, except that it's completely isolated from people. No discernible pattern to the timing of the event. No evidence left behind. No motive. No suspects." The irritation in his voice was obvious.

His own frustration causing him to feel suddenly very motivated, Ron turned on his heel. "Well, let's go check it out."

He exited the tent and approached the edge of the chasm, studying the impressions and rubble, checking for anything out of the ordinary. Satisfied, he stepped over the edge and half slid, half walked down the steep sides of the crater. He knelt at the bottom, putting one hand flat against the ground and closed his eyes. He breathed in deeply and listened hard, centering in the silence for several minutes. Then, he could sense it- the slight taste of decay on his tongue, the deliberate intention of the past enchantment pulsing faintly against his fingers. This place had definitely known magic.

"Anything?" Patterson, who had not followed Ron down, raised his voice so it would travel.

"Yes," Ron responded, "it has all the same signs. This was not an accident. This was another failed attempt at taming wild magic." He stood up and surveyed the rest of the scene. "Although," he considered thoughtfully, "it's possible that whatever they're trying to do, they're getting better at it. Closer to their goal."

Patterson's quick response cut sharply through the air, "what do you mean?"

"These incidents started small, slowly escalating to that monstrosity we surveyed months ago." Ron deliberated aloud, slowly hiking around the devastated area in close examination. "Since then, they've been steadily shrinking in magnitude. Maybe that indicates that they're getting better at control."

There was a pause while Patterson considered these words. "But what does that mean? What is their goal?"

That was the question Ron had been asking himself for months. Nothing had made any sense to him. He monitored every incident, had found he had a knack for feeling magic the way others couldn't. He documented, diagrammed, and tried to find patterns amid the chaos. The only consistency was that the areas destroyed were always extremely isolated. But why bother causing all this destruction in the middle of nowhere? No one was ever hurt, no property was ever destroyed. No, none of it had made any sense to him, until...

He cracked an unexpected smile and looked up towards Patterson. "Actually sir, I recently had a conversation with an old friend, and she gave me an idea about that."  
_____

Patterson had liked his theory so much, that within the week Ron had access to all the meticulous documentation Hermione had pulled together for her own investigation. It had only taken him a couple more days of analysis before he was able to saunter into Patterson's office triumphantly. At one look on Ron's face, the older man waved his wand to close all the windows and doors and gestured impatiently for Ron to take a seat.

"It all lines up perfectly," Ron said without preamble.

"Show me."

Ron held up one file. "Cairo, seven months ago. We investigated an unexplainable pit. Less than ten kilometers away, Hermione uncovered a statue that had been stripped of its ancient enchantment. " He threw the papers on Patterson's desk and held up another file.

"Cuzco, four months ago. We examined the biggest explosion site we've seen to date. Seven kilometers away, Hermione found a gold talisman which she specifically notes here should have held an especially powerful and volatile magic." Another file.

"Scotland, last week. She found an empty cairn just up the road, Patterson!" He threw the entire stack of folders on the table. "Dozens of stolen artifacts, all within fifteen kilometers of sites we've investigated."

Ron leaned back in his seat, running his fingers through his hair, his mind running in overdrive. "According to Hermione, stripping the artifact of its magic is wildly complicated and dangerous. When the magic starts to decay, it is extremely difficult to safely move."

He looked up at his boss, eyes wide. "So what if the person stealing them isn't able to move them very far?"

"Why steal them at all?" Patterson asked, rifling through the documents.

Ron put the tips of his fingers together, looking up at the ceiling. "I wondered that. My best guess is they are trying to harvest the magic somehow. Hermione says these old enchantments are often forgotten magics, and the decay, while unpredictable and difficult to work with, would certainly give them more firepower. As to the why," he shook his head, "I honestly still don't know."

"Hmm," Patterson put the papers down, looking distractedly out the window. "What about the timing?"

"What do you mean?" Ron asked

"You hypothesize they aren't being moved far, but can they last for very long after being moved?"

Ron shook his head. "I wondered that too, and you're right." He opened up a notebook crammed full of tiny, neat writing. "She thinks that once an artifact has been relocated, the person probably has less than a day to attempt to displace the magic before the decay causes an explosion."

"Ok," Patterson murmured, thinking hard, "so it follows that if we were able to identify exactly when an object has been stolen..."

"We'd have a radius and window of time guarantee of our criminal's whereabouts pre explosion." Ron confirmed.

Patterson looked him in the eye. "Nice work, Weasley."  
_____

Three weeks later, Ron sat dejectedly, looking around the impromptu prison. Well, he'd really gotten himself into trouble with this one.

Despite setting detection charms at as many of the historical locations Hermione had identified as they could, they still hadn't managed to pinpoint any relics being stolen. That morning, when Ron was informed of another magical detonation site to investigate, he had punched the wall in frustration. He was so close, SO CLOSE, but the maniac was still a step ahead of him.

He'd taken the ad hoc portkey that Patterson had left on his desk, and ended up in the familiar tent in an unfamiliar location- just outside of Beijing this time. Distracted and annoyed, he had gone through the motions without truly paying attention, and hadn't noticed the slight iridescence in the air near the big hole until he'd already stepped through it. He'd activated a magical tripwire, a spell that hardened a bubble around him like a force field, effectively trapping him within the explosion site.

Unable to go anywhere, he'd had to listen to an earful from Patterson, and then watch a half dozen specialists try to safely break the enchantments of his jail unsuccessfully. With each passing hour, Ron grew more dispirited. Then, he heard her voice, sharp and shrill, like it always was when she was worried.

"Where is he?"

When Hermione stepped into his view, he stood, smiling at her sheepishly. "Hey Mione."

She crossed her arms, glaring at him. "What the hell, Ron?"

He winced. "I know."

"Were you even paying attention? What were you thinking?" With her hands on her hips, flyaway curls framing her face, and furious features focused only on him, waiting expectantly for his answer, Ron was forcibly reminded of why he had spent so much time when he was younger trying to make her angry. She was beautiful.

"They've never booby trapped a site before," he defended himself.

She conjured a table and set her bag down on it angrily, slamming her items around as she unpacked. He had to suppress a smile, watching her set up all her instruments while she muttered under her breath. He'd forgotten how cute she was when she was mad.

Ready, she turned abruptly to look at him. "The others think that the spell holding you has its roots in very old magic, which is why they were uncomfortable trying to break it themselves."

"And why you're here," Ron supplied.

She nodded curtly, then walked over to him. She held her hands up, feeling for the barrier. The invisible boundary felt hard beneath her fingers, like glass. She tapped the surface of it with her wand, trying to discern its telling properties with various spells.

"It's malleable and fluid in the translation vector," she noted quietly, "but immobile in the radial direction." She set about again, gathering samples of the surrounding air and rocks. She began mixing the samples with other chemicals on the table, referencing the outcomes in a book and writing them down on a small notepad.

"What're you doing?" He asked her, fascinated.

"Older spells tend to have two notable differences versus the way we think about magic now," she explained, forgetting her anger in answering the question. "They are more rooted in both emotion and nature."

"Emotion?" He asked, surprised.

"Yes," she continued fiddling with instruments and taking notes. "You have to be happy to conjure a Patronus. You have to feel hate to use the Cruciatus Curse. Old magics generally work like that." She pulled another book out of her bag and began cross referencing. "It's very nearly impossible to know emotions from thousands of years ago, unless you have a lot of context around the ceremony of the spell. Or in this case, the emotions of the person who hijacked the old magic to create this barrier. So instead, right now, I'm looking for what power of nature this enchantment is primarily tied to."

She rapidly added several ingredients to a vial, and then tapped her wand to it twice. It sizzled and turned a bright green. She held it in her hand, and walked over to him, frowning. "This is my best guess."

"Get on with it then," he said encouragingly, but her frown deepened. She poured a little on the ground in front of him, but nothing happened.

"I was worried about that." She bit her lip and shook her head. "I don't have enough info to go on. I don't know the emotional half of this equation." She looked around. "I could take a guess, but if I get it wrong…"

He didn't ask. He didn't want to know.

Ron stood up again, holding his hands out, mirroring Hermione's actions from earlier. He was so close to her he felt like he should be able to reach her, but the boundary prevented him from closing the last couple inches in distance. Shutting his eyes, he focused on his breathing and the silence. She watched him curiously. Finally he spoke, "I feel jealousy in this spell, like a lightning bolt."

She looked at him sharply, stepping back slightly. "What? Don't mess with me right now, Weasley."

"I'm not," he shrugged. "I'm not, Hermione, I can sometimes feel magic." She looked at him incredulously. "I've always been able to," he persisted. "It's one of the ways I draw connections between crime scenes."

"That's not possible, Ron," she scoffed, "what you're describing isn't real." She shook her head, "maybe you think you can, but I assure you that it's in your head." She tsked dismissively and walked back to her table, vigorously flipping through her notes again. "I must have overlooked something."

He watched her helplessly, wishing he could do more to persuade her. Quietly, he spoke up again, "remember the locket?"

Everything seemed to stand still. Hermione stopped cold, frozen in front of her notes. "Remember, Hermione? The horcrux?" She refused to look at him, but he knew she was listening for all she was worth. "I could feel it, Mione. His evil intent, pulsing through me."

He wished he could reach out to her. They'd never talked about this before, the real WHY in when he stormed out. He wanted to hug her, hold her. She still wouldn't look at him, paused mid action. He knew she was processing the information.

"It was like a second heartbeat," he whispered, looking at his hands. "It started so small. Bit by bit, it grew louder and louder, overwhelming my own. Every pulse I could feel the hatred, his hatred, intertwined in the magic."

She still didn't say anything. They stood in silence for a long time.

"I sometimes thought," she said quietly, "when I'd been wearing it, that I could hear… but it was so faint." She bit her lip again and looked at him. "Not like what you're describing."

"Please." It was all he could manage, gazing imploringly into her deep brown eyes. "Please, I know it sounds crazy, but you have to believe me."

"This spell," she gestured to the air between them, "it was based in static electricity- in the properties of lightning. How could you possibly know that?" She looked at him, hesitantly, and held the small vial up again, her hands shaking. "You're absolutely sure about this, Ron? It's not anger, or ambition?"

"Jealousy," he said firmly, "I'd stake my life on it." She bit her lip, and slowly added another ingredient to the vial, which hissed and turned a faint purple color.

"That's good." She took a step forward. "Because that's exactly what you're doing."

He nodded tersely, and without breaking eye contact, she upended the contents of the vial on the ground. The air around them sizzled and the pressure of the shield was relieved. He stepped forward next to her, sweeping her up in his arms. She choked back a sob, and he held her tightly, planting a kiss on her forehead.

"I'm ok, Mione, you brilliant woman. I'm ok."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind words! I find them so encouraging. I hope you all enjoy this next chapter. 
> 
> Leave me a review to let me know what you think!

Hermione  
_____

On official Ministry orders, Hermione had been loaned out full time to the Auror division, where she'd spent the last couple of weeks helping to pinpoint locations for potential thefts and telling them all she knew about harvesting ancient magic. There had been no new reports of either an explosion site or a stolen relic since the incident near Beijing, although Hermione had stopped asking her contacts at other Ministries for information, since Ron felt it likely that one of them was the culprit.

"It's the tripwire," he would say, shaking his head, "that's our clue. They've never set a booby trap like that for me before. That means that the thief, whoever they are, knows that I'm onto them, which they would only know because I brought you in specifically, Hermione. That combined with their knowledge in extracting decaying magic…" He would shake his head again. "I'm sorry, Mione, it's got to be someone in your field."

The thought made Hermione's heart sink, but she tried to pull herself together and help the Auror department fill in the gaps. On the bright side, she'd been able to spend more time with both Ron and Harry than she'd had in years, and although the circumstances weren't ideal, at least she put in the long hours with two of her favorite people in the world.

Using the limited criminal profile that Ron was building and the information that Hermione supplied, the strategic team agreed on a plan for where to set more detection charms, and Patterson deployed his field agents (including Harry) to the appropriate locations.

This is how Ron and Hermione found themselves in Sicily, searching a nature reserve on the northern coast. They were able to apparate within a certain distance, but with the unknown potential for anti-apparation spells, they continued the exploration on foot. Hermione led the way, following a worn path of switchbacks that slowly climbed up the side of a cliff along the sea. There were no trees out here, but prickly shrubs grew sporadically among the tall, wild grasses. The coastline was rocky and dusty, pushed up against the base of striking grey cliffs for as far as the eye could see. She was glad for her tall socks and hiking boots, and also for her shorts and tank top as the sun beat down on them relentlessly. Adjusting her baseball cap, she threw her ponytail of tightly coiled curls over her shoulder and called back to Ron.

"I think that cave up there is our destination." She came to a stop at a small summit on the trail, pointing to the dark opening further up the cliff. Ron stopped beside her, using his hand to shield the sun from his eyes and looking where she indicated.

"How do you know?"

"We're literally looking for the equivalent of buried treasure out here," she said. They sat down, and she pulled out a Nalgene from the side pocket of her bag, taking a drink. "I think it'll be a remote and secure location that the wizards of ancient Mondello would have used to hide their gold or jewels." She nodded at the cave, "that definitely qualifies." She took another sip, then screwed the top on lightly and handed it over to Ron. He accepted gratefully. While he gulped some water down, Hermione looked out over the ocean view, breathing in the open air deeply and smiling contentedly. She pulled one leg up and rested her chin on it, her brown skin glistening in the sunlight.

"If I didn't know any better," said Ron, handing her the bottle back and looking amused. "I'd say you were enjoying this physical activity."

She laughed, "Yes, I suppose I am. I always liked hiking with my parents." She trailed off, smiling sadly at the countryside. He reached for her free hand and squeezed it gently. She'd lost her parents during the war; they never made it home from Australia.

"I'm sorry," he said gently.

"It's ok, I like being reminded of the good memories I have with them." She cleared her throat, squeezing his hand back.

"Anyways," he joked, "It's a different experience to hike together when we're not hunting horcruxes."

She laughed, "Yes, it certainly is that."

"This is not how I thought I'd first go to Italy," Ron mused, surveying the jagged coast and expanses of turquoise blue water. He leaned back against a rock and put his hands behind his head. "But can't complain with this kind of view, can I?"

"No, you cannot," she murmered, taking in the way his biceps bulged, and how his auburn beard brought out the blue of his eyes.

"See anything you like?" He smirked at her.

She rolled her eyes. "C'mon, it's another hour or so walk to that cave entrance."

When they arrived at their destination, Hermione closely surveyed the opening. It was only five meters wide, but after a few steps in, it was hard to see much beyond the dark. She lit up her wand, gesturing for Ron to do the same. "Stay on the left side of me, and we'll walk slowly together towards the back. It's hard to say how deep it extends. Be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary."

"What're we looking for?" Ron asked.

"Typical signs of magic," she answered, "A shimmer in the air, the sudden desire to leave, muffling of noises, a point you can't walk past, you know, the usual stuff."

He nodded and followed her into the cave. They moved carefully. After several minutes, Hermione started to feel like her skin was being stretched tight. She stopped and turned to Ron, "do you feel that?"

But even to herself, the words were lost, sounding as though she'd tried to speak to him underwater. He shook his head at her, but held up a finger. He closed his eyes and placed his hand on the wall, staying still for several minutes. She watched him, immensely curious at this new-but-not-so-new talent that Ron seemed to depend on. He really always had been more intuitive with magic than she, who was fully book and theory trained. Wasn't the deluminator enough proof of that? The deluminator had never worked for anyone else the way it did for Ron, as far as Hermione knew. Maybe Dumbledore, she amended, but hadn't he also been famously intuitive with his magic?

When Ron opened his eyes, he pointed about ten steps to her left, and she turned around to look. She couldn't see anything, but as she walked that way, she knew he was right. The spell assaulting her skin now began to prickle a warning. She pulled out her wand, attempting half a dozen different nonverbal spells until finally the faint outline of a doorway appeared. She turned to look at Ron, beaming, and gave him a thumbs up. She pulled two small pebbles out of her pocket, placing one on each side of the door. The pebbles had already been spelled to detect if anything moved between them. If their thief walked through that doorway, she and Ron would know. She nonverbally hid the magical entrance again, and jerked her head at Ron to retreat. With every step away, they could feel the magical repulsion spells relenting.

"Don't we need to go in and check on the relics?" He asked.

"No," she said, "none of the enchantments here were broken at all. I don't think you'd be able to get through that doorway without breaking those spells, and you definitely wouldn't be able to recreate them."

He nodded thoughtfully.

"How did you know where the door was?" Hermione asked him, interested.

By now they were on the loose dirt trail again, descending the switchbacks down the rocky terrain. "It was like…" She looked over her shoulder to see him wildly gesturing. "I dunno. A spider's web. I could feel the pull at the center."

She shook her head, half exasperated, half amused. "I've never heard of anything like that, Ron."

He grinned at her disarmingly. "So you're saying I'm one of a kind?"

After bantering affectionately the whole, slow hike back into the apparition point, they decided to grab some dinner from a nearby village. The food came in greasy bags, but Hermione was so hungry that she grabbed them without complaint.

"What do you reckon?" Ron asked her, "eat here or go to the safehouse?"

"We have a safehouse?"

He nodded, "yeah the Aurors have 'em all over. They updated the enchantments on this one for us so that literally only you or I can get into it for the duration of this mission."

She raised her eyebrows. "Impressive."

"Very, the spells take almost two days to complete. Shall we?" He extended his arm. She grabbed it and he disapparated them again.

Hermione thought the safehouse was surprisingly cute, nestled away on an isolated beach. They agreed to shower first, so she charmed the food to stay warm- if you could call it food she thought suspiciously, watching one of the bags drip grease on the counter- and then wandered into one of the ensuite bedrooms. She scrubbed herself clean, dressed, and went back into the living area. It had huge bay windows with wonderful views of the water, so close she could hear the waves roll down below. She grabbed a book to pass the time while she waited for Ron, who, as she remembered, liked a long shower. Although the couch was plush and comfortable, Hermione laid on the ground with her feet up against the wall at ninety degrees, and opened her book.

That's how Ron found her twenty minutes later: laying on the ground, reading. He smiled at the sight, used a towel to rub his hair dry, and grabbed the dinner bags. He sat down on the floor next to her, leaning his back against the wall. He pulled the burgers and chips out of the greasy paper bags, offering her some as he took a bite of his own. She put down her book and grabbed a chip.

"So... jealousy," he said without preamble, referencing the site near Beijing. "That's a very specific emotion."

She sighed, looking up at the ceiling as she munched on the chips. "Yes, I've been wondering the same thing. What could that mean?"

"I have ideas," he said cryptically. "Each one makes less sense than the previous."

They sat in silence for a while. Hermione, tired from the long day, felt unbidden tears welling up in her eyes. She wiped them away in frustration, bursting out, "it just feels personal. Someone I know, someone I have worked with, is causing all this destruction."

"At least they haven't hurt anyone," Ron consoled, brushing his fingers against her arm gently.

She closed her eyes, enjoying his touch. "Yet," she murmured sadly. He didn't disagree. It wasn't likely they were going to see a peaceful outcome to someone attempting to make the equivalent of a magical bomb.

"I wish there was more we could do," she said.

"I know," now Ron sounded frustrated. "Me too."

They sat in silence again, picking at the bad food, lost in their thoughts.

"So, why are we eating dinner on the floor?" He asked conversationally.

She burst out laughing. "It straightens out my spine; helps me sleep better." She held up a skimpy burger. "And I'm not exactly sure we should call this dinner."

"Fair enough." He stood up, holding out a hand to help her to her feet. "Let's rectify that situation at least."

They apparated back into town and enjoyed fresh focaccia from a street cart. Then they grabbed some gelato and wandered the cobbled streets, admiring the quaint village. ("This is a much better way to enjoy my first trip to Italy," Ron said approvingly.) After Hermione ducked into a small store and emerged with a bottle of wine, they apparated back to the safehouse.

Deciding to enjoy the warm weather, they walked on the beach, taking turns drinking the wine straight from the bottle, enjoying the clear sky and shimmering stars of the summer night.

"I know I'm not on a vacation," she sighed, standing with her toes wiggling happily in the warm water, "but this is really nice, Ron. Being here. With… with you."

He took a pull of the bottle and stood next to her, looking out over the vast ocean. "I know what you mean. We've been able to see each other every day for a few weeks now. That's the longest since we were in school."

She grabbed the bottle from him, and muttered the charm for it to refill. At his raised eyebrows she shrugged. "When in Rome?"

He laughed. "We're not in Rome, but... we're close enough. How about something stronger, then?" With a tap of his wand, the wine turned to firewhiskey.

"That's the spirit," she drank a couple mouthfuls and passed it back to him. The warmth of it immediately reached her stomach, and rolled pleasantly into her extremities. She waded deeper into the water.

"Where're you going?"

"I just want to rinse off the sand a bit."

"Oh, let me help."

She blinked. "Wait, what?" but before she could turn around, she felt a large splash of water hit her from behind. She sputtered, unexpectedly wet, and heard Ron snickering. Hermione felt the corners of her lips pulling up.

"That's it, Ron Weasley, you've asked for it." She waved her wand and sent a bubble of water floating over his head, breaking and dumping all over him. She giggled at his indignant expression, and then it was on. They played in the shallow warm water, splashing, laughing, and passing the whiskey bottle. Head spinning, soaked to the bone, Hermione ran back onto the beach and threw herself down on the warm sand, laying on her back. Ron happily laid next to her, propped up on an elbow and taking another drink.

"I feel like a kid again," she grinned. "You bring that in out me. Oops," she giggled again, her eyes alight, "I mean, out in me."

He moved closer to her, put the bottle down, and placed his free hand on hers. "Merlin," he whispered, "I forgot how cute you are when you're tipsy."

She smiled contentedly, not at all startled at how close they were. "Is that why you tried to get me to drink so often in school?"

"Without a doubt," he answered. "And for the record, I don't regret that."

She shimmied closer to him so their sides were pressed together. He reached across her to delicately move her wet curls, then rested one arm on either side of her, boxing her in. She gazed into his face, that familiar face she knew so well, admiring the way his eyes sparkled when he was laughing. Her pulse quickened, and she was sure he must hear her heart beat. "I've missed you, Ron."

"You don't know the half of it," he breathed. He nuzzled his face against her neck, kissing it lightly. She shuddered at his next words, feeling his hot breath dance across her sensitive skin pleasantly. "You're going to have to tell me if you want me to stop, Mione, because I right now I feel that I should have done this at least ten years ago."

She felt his tongue now, flicking the sensitive pulse spot, sliding down over her collarbone and sucking it gently. She gasped, her senses on fire. One of his hands found her hip, leisurely circling the hemline of her shirt. She moaned softly, moving his hand under the offending clothing, urgent to feel his skin on her skin. He gripped her hip bone in his large hand, and as she arched her back into him he said in a strangled voice, "still waiting on that answer, love."

"Don't stop."

He kissed her jaw, beard tickling her mildly, then looked in her eyes and whispered. "I've wanted to do this every second we were ever together, and quite a few seconds when we weren't." Her breath caught in her throat, and then his lips were on hers. He tasted like salt water and whiskey, and she kissed him back enthusiastically, gasping when his hand moved up under her shirt, his calloused fingers running over her bra. She ran her fingers through his hair, opening her mouth to allow his tongue entry, admiring the feeling of his muscled back, trying to decide how far she could take this, when-

"The mission has been compromised." A loud gravelly voice boomed around them, and they broke apart in surprise to see a patronus shaped like a big cat talking to them. "Stay in the safehouse until further notice. Sending guard when we can. Return confirmation."

Ron gathered her in his arms and popped up before Hermione fully realized what was happening. "That was Patterson," he muttered, helping her balance on her feet. "Ready to run? We shouldn't apparate now if we can help it. Drank too much. Keep hold of my hand so we don't get separated." She nodded mutely and let Ron lead her back to the safehouse.

It was a stressful couple of minutes, the previously idyllic beach now feeling ominous in the long shadows and eerie quiet. It wasn't until they were through the protective enchantments, and Ron had sent a patronus back to Patterson, that they could breath easily.

They stood in the kitchen and looked at each other, unsure of what to do next. Watching Ron fidget uncomfortably, Hermione suddenly felt the weight of the day crashing down on her: tired, tipsy, and worried about the unknown, she excused herself to go to bed and quickly fell into a dreamless sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter a bit, but it came together in the end. Also, it's late, and I don't have a beta, fair warning. 
> 
> I have LOVED writing again, and I always enjoy comments (thank you for all the kind words!!!), so drop a review if you like it! Have a wonderful weekend friends!

Ron  
_____

When Ron awoke the morning after he and Hermione's evening on the beach, he was bleary eyed, a little hungover, and very cranky. He'd been unable to sleep the previous night, kept awake with the anxiety of what danger he might have put them in. Old friends or not, it was his job to guard her on this mission, and getting drunk on the beach outside of the protective wards of the safe house hardly qualified as doing his job. Even if it did lead to an amazingly hot snog.

He groaned and pulled the covers over his head, adjusting himself to accommodate the sudden tightening in his pajama bottoms. The kiss had been amazingly hot, there was no denying that. She had looked so alluring, wet clothes clinging to her womanly body, cheeks flushed and eyes alight. He was intoxicated by both the whiskey and the feel of her: playful, happy, so ALIVE in his arms. She'd made him feel things for her last night that he hadn't acknowledged in years. While he admittedly had a wild crush on her when they were teenagers, since they'd moved into their adult lives, he'd come to view her closer along the lines of The One Who Got Away. Hermione to him was more like… a big what-if. He'd never pined over the years, and although he couldn't seem to stop himself from flirting with her when they were together (she was an intelligent, gorgeous woman!), it had been a long time since he actually wanted to do anything about it.

Until last night. Last night he'd let his guard down, and it scared him to consider what might have happened if they had been attacked. He shuddered involuntarily. She could have really been hurt, and it would have been all his fault. He groaned again; he was a stupid, stupid man.

He got out of bed groggily, and stumbled down the stairs to make some coffee. While it was brewing, a familiar stag patronus burst into the kitchen, making Ron nearly jump out of his skin. Sighing in relief and leaning against the counter, he listened to the message. Harry was in the village, and would need Ron to escort him past the protective enchantments.

After bustling back upstairs to change quickly, he filled up a thermos with the fresh brew, considering if he should wake up Hermione or not. He decided to let her rest, partially in case she wasn't feeling well from the whiskey, and partially to avoid talking to her. He was a chicken, he reflected, scribbling her a note.

Mione-

Gone to collect Harry, be back in a moment. I have not been abducted, don't panic. And don't leave the house.

Yours with Firebolts and hippogriffs,

Ron

He smiled despite himself. The summer after the war had ended had been a strange one. Stuck in a limbo of healing and indecision, before everyone had moved onto new jobs, new towns, and new phases of life, they'd spent a memorable, painful summer wherein various members of the DA and the Order of the Phoenix would meet at the same pub at the same time every Friday night. It was a safe haven, a place of camaraderie, where people with like experiences could let their guards down for a few peaceful hours.

One night, the topic of conversation had lingered for a while on the infamous Scabbers vs Crookshanks fight. The Golden Trio had regaled their friends humorously with various stories of the many antics Ron and Hermione had employed that year to annoy each other, either on purpose or accidentally. It started with the Firebolt being confiscated (that really was the catalyst for the whole thing they decided) and ended with how they finally made up: over their mutual desire to help Hagrid and save Buckbeak. Ron had told her later that while he did do it in part for Hagrid, he had also done it largely for her. He hadn't realized while they were fighting, but she had been very stressed that year, and when he did finally figure it out, he would have done anything to help her.

When the summer ended and she left for Egypt, her first several letters had seemed sad and lonely. To cheer her up, and to remind her that he was always in her corner, he told her that he promised her, "on Firebolts and hippogriffs," that she could always count on him. Since then, they'd used the phrase to sign most of their letters, and sometimes in person as a trump card when they wanted the other to take something seriously.

Leaving the note open on the counter, he grabbed his thermos and walked out the side kitchen door.

_____

He found Harry sitting in a cafe, reading a newspaper and sipping on a latte. Ron sat down next to him, excited to see his old friend.

"What did you chuck at my head during 4th year before the first task?"

Harry sniggered, "A Potter Stinks badge."

Satisfied, Ron sat down next to him. "You alone?"

"Yeah, no one else available right now."

"Must be bad," Ron observed. Harry shrugged.

"Kind of tacky to bring a coffee into a cafe, isn't it?" Harry smirked.

"Oh shut it, you didn't warn me did you?" Ron said, batting the top of his newspaper. "Shall we grab muffins to go?"

"Make it quick," Harry checked his watch. "Patterson was very clear we need to get within the safe house enchantments and to stay there."

They got the takeaway and apparated to the edge of the protective charms, where Ron muttered some spells and Harry had to draw a few drops of blood before gripping Ron's elbow so they could walk through the barriers together.

Hermione was waiting in the sitting room, fully dressed and curled up, reading.

"Harry!" She exclaimed delightedly, jumping up.

"Hullo Hermione." He smiled, hugging her. He settled into an armchair while Ron and Hermione sat down on the couch.

"Tell us everything," Ron said, handing out muffins and coffee. "What happened, why the lock down?"

"One of the sites triggered an explosion," Harry reported. Hermione gasped, the muffin halfway to her mouth, looking at him with wide eyes.

Ron didn't look up, feeling his chest constrict. "Casualties?" he asked in a low, gruff voice, trying to sound calm.

"Two," Harry said wearily, and Ron's chest squeezed again. "Agents. Dead on impact." Hermione let out a small sob, grabbing Ron's arm around the bicep and gripping it tightly. He put his hand over hers.

"Where?" Ron asked, unable to force longer sentences. He focused on compartmentalizing the emotions and tapping into his agent mindset. He'd long ago learned to get the job done; mourning could happen later.

"The place we pinpointed in Croatia." Harry said, leaning back in his chair and sighing. "It was booby trapped. Patterson is worried the other sites could be as well, so he's called for a lock down until safe travel is arranged for all agents."

"I assume there's a plan for that?" Ron asked, feeling calmer already. He could handle discussing plans, strategy.

"Tomorrow at noon," Harry confirmed. "I'm to escort the two of you to a portkey ten kilometers south of here."

They sat in silence, Hermione sniffling occasionally. Ron squeezed her hand encouragingly. No one needed to tell Hermione to compose herself- she'd lived through every bit of the same war that they had. Ron knew she had a tough heart (Gryffindor through and through).

Didn't stop him from wanting to wipe the tears from her beautiful, concerned eyes.

Instead, he asked aloud, "why Croatia? Have there been any other explosions?"

"Nope," Harry said. Ron summoned his notes from the kitchen and made them float in mid air in front of him. He stroked his chin, mussing his beard.

"Mione?" He asked gently. She looked up at him. "We thought Croatia was a bit of a stretch, right?"

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Exhaling, she released his hand, "yes, we did." She rubbed her eyes and stood up, beginning to pace, sipping on her tea. "It wasn't an impossible idea, but it was definitely improbable. Not at all where I would have gone looking for these types of relics, if I was the thief."

Ron watched her closely, analyzing. "Now that's an interesting thought."

Harry leaned forward in his seat again, searching Ron's face. "What is?"

"Well, I mean... If the thief is in Hermione's field, wouldn't they have a similar thought process to hers? It's like they purposely set an explosion somewhere that was more of a long shot than a sure thing." Ron was speaking quickly, half aloud and half to himself, ideas spinning in his mind. A big one emerged. He didn't like it at all.

Hermione's wand, sitting on the coffee table, suddenly started vibrating and glowing bright red, emitting a loud ringing sound. They stopped and stared at it.

"Is that what I think it is?" asked Harry.

"Yup." said Ron.

Hermione just kept looking at it for several more seconds, until finally Harry said, "Oh, just shut it off, will you?" She reached out with trembling fingers and grasped the handle, her touch turning off the alarm immediately.

"So," Ron said, looking at Harry, "what do you reckon?"

"How long do we have?" They both turned to look at Hermione.

She began to pace again. "It's quite a walk away, but I think we can apparate a bit closer this time, now that we know where we're going. And it should take the thief some time to break all the enchantments, although we didn't go beyond the door so it's hard to say what they'll face exactly-"

"Hermione, short answer," Harry cut in.

She wrung her hands, voice shaking, "at most, an hour. Maybe two if we're lucky."

"We're under lock down orders from Patterson," Harry reminded Ron, as if reading his mind.

"He's here Harry," Ron said, feeling the adrenaline pump in his veins, even if he remained firmly seated on the coach. "He's bloody well here, and we need to go get him. Besides," he grimaced wryly, "I've followed you blindly into more than one fight, haven't I, Potter?"

Harry grinned. "Alright, I like a good scuffle. Let's go."

_____

Half an hour later the three of them were standing in front of the doorway that Ron and Hermione had discovered the day before. "The protective spell here is definitely broken," Ron said, gesturing around them. "We couldn't hear ourselves talk yesterday."

Harry nodded. "I'll go in first; stay close to me." He stepped through the entrance.

Ron gave Hermione a small smile, whispering, "some things never change, do they?" She laughed dryly, and followed Harry, with Ron bringing up the rear.

They climbed through a narrow tunnel that steadily slanted down, the passage only wide enough for a single file. There was no light, beside a slight bioluminescent glow that seemed to come from small specks in the rocks. It was not enough to see by, so they all lit their wand tips and stumbled on the rocky path, going as quickly as they dared in the tricky terrain.

"Fair warning," Hermione whispered as they labored around a sharp turn with low hanging stalactites. "Even if our thief has had to break the protective enchantments in this bunker, it's very typical for those types of spells to reform for the next entrant."

"Meaning that we may encounter some?" Harry asked.

"Yes," she said softly. "They're often not very friendly, and I don't have much experience in dealing with them myself. We usually send in curse breakers ahead of my team."

"We've faced worse together," Ron said encouragingly.

Harry snorted. "You could say that."

After what felt like hours but was probably closer to fifteen minutes, the tunnel began to level out and then opened up in a big cavern. Big being an understatement Ron thought, gazing up towards a ceiling he couldn't see. This space had torches of fire lit along all walls, illuminating a large, intricately carved mural in the distance. Spanning across no less than a hundred meters were huge chiseled vines of ivy that never stopped moving. They were seemingly made of rock, but they were completely mesmerizing, twisting and tangling, the grey leaves almost delicate.

"I want to get a closer look," Harry said, and Ron felt himself agreeing enthusiastically.

"I don't think," said Hermione, but she trailed off. The pull of the enchanted stone was too much and they were halfway across the distance before anything happened.

BOOM.

A streak of white gold light fired from the base of one of the leaves, streaking past the right of Harry and creating a small divot in the ground behind him. The moment fractured, they all shouted and broke into runs in different directions, and the shots of magic began to blast rapidly from the sculpted ivy.

"Don't let it touch you," Hermione shrieked, casting a shield charm and leaping out of the way of one of the blasts.

"What happens if it touches us?" Harry shouted, conjuring a dustbin lid and using it like a shield.

"Let's not find out," she answered.

"Never mind that, how do we stop it?" Ron bellowed, throwing himself behind a stalagmite.

"There's usually a key of some kind- something that is out of place that needs to be returned." Ron could barely hear her, registering that the unexpected attack had driven them away from each other.

"Hermione," he yelled, "we need a blockade or something!" He made a rush through the blasts of white light, trying to maneuver towards Harry. To his left, he saw a shimmer in the air before a large boulder appeared, blocking his view of the wall but protecting him from the discharge. The other two joined him quickly.

"This won't last long," Hermione warned. "It's cracking on the other side already."

The sounds of the blasts were more frequent now, as though they had managed to irritate the large stone wall of ivy.

"I don't need it to last long," Harry said. "Give me a minute."

"I'll cover you," Ron said, pulling the dustbin lid from Harry and enlarging it by a few feet. "Let's go."

He jumped out and Harry followed quickly, Ron holding their makeshift shield between them and the flying curses, watching his friend's back closely while Harry surveyed the scene intently. He turned slowly, surveying the entirety of the chamber before they both scrambled back behind the boulder.

"Well?" Hermione asked.

"There's a sphere laying on the ground in the far corner and a big round hole in the wall pretty close to where we are now." Harry reported, "would that count as a key?"

She nodded. "I'm not optimistic, but… Accio sphere." Nothing happened. She sighed. "I figured."

"We've got to hurry," Harry said, peaking around their blockade briefly, "this thing is going to disintegrate soon."

"Ok," Ron screwed up his eyes. "It seems to focus on where we are more than where we are not. Could we draw its fire somehow?"

Hermione bit her lip. "Maybe a disillusionment charm? Or…" she trailed off thoughtfully, then leaped from behind their barrier and shouted "Reducto!" She barely dodged the rapidly returned fire aimed right where she had been standing.

"Bloody hell, woman!" Ron shouted, but she ignored him, pushing her hair out of her face.

"It definitely notices being attacked. We can draw the fire that way while one person runs to get the sphere."

"Ok," said Harry, "Hermione, you run to get the sphere-"

"No good," Ron shook his head. "We don't know if it can be lifted magically, and Hermione doesn't have the upper body strength we do. No offense, Mione."

"None taken," she said, "I don't have to pass physical exams for a living, do I?"

"Good. And before you argue, Harry," Ron said, turning to look at him, "remember that we are running out of time, and you're faster than me. Just go get the bloody sphere while Hermione and I draw the fire."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, his green eyes flashing dangerously under his black square rimmed glasses.

"OI, NO TIME, POTTER!" Ron shouted, and Harry closed his mouth and nodded tersely.

"Ok, Mione," Ron said, turning back to her. "We watch each other's backs, right?"

"Always," she confirmed bravely, and conjured two large stone pillars off to the side of their rapidly disintegrating boulder.

"Now!" Harry shouted, and in the nick of time. Ron and Hermione leapt behind their pillars and Harry broke for the far corner, just as their blockade gave one final crack and fell into pieces.

"Bombarda!" He heard Hermione yell, and turned to see her spell hit a leaf in an explosion of rubble. The vines began to writhe angrily as he and Hermione sent curse after curse flying towards the wall. Soon they were backed up against their pillars, thick curtains of white gold magic flying around them.

"I think we've distracted it," he told her, panting.

She nodded. "But I'm not sure these pillars will last much longer."

"Here's to Harry's health then," he said, ducking low and sending another spell towards the angry ivy structure. He felt, rather than saw, the sudden fear from Hermione, and heard a great cracking of stone as he turned, as if in slow motion, to see her pillar blow up into particles. On pure instincts, he dived, fully horizontal in the air before he knew what he was doing. He grabbed her around the waist, throwing himself on top of her and shielding her with his body. He felt two spells hit him in the back, like jabs to his kidneys.

"Cheap shots," he muttered.

As quickly as it had started, it stopped. The spells ceased, the silence almost disconcerting. Then the room began to darken, and he heard Harry shouting, heard Hermione speaking close to his ear, so close, then he lost consciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review if you like it! Hope everyone is having a lovely week so far.

Hermione  
_____

Just as the pillar she was hiding behind exploded, Hermione felt Ron tackle her, cushion her fall, wrap his body around hers, shielding her from the chaos of the spells firing around them. She heard the thumps of the curses hitting him, and he grunted, muttering something unintelligible.

She was pressed into the ground, and could only partially see Harry hoist what appeared to be a heavy sphere into a round slot on the wall near where she and Ron lay. The aggressive magic flying everywhere ceased abruptly. Hermione squirmed out from underneath her protector, trying to push him onto his back.

"Ron?" She shook him, at first gently, then more urgently. "Please be ok. Please." She put her hand on his chest and under his nose, trying to observe any signs of life. She nearly sobbed with relief when she felt the rise and fall of his rib cage.

Harry ran over to her, panting, "is he hurt?"

"I don't know," she whispered, grabbing Ron's hand, "he's breathing at least."

"Here, I can do some field checks." Harry dropped to his knees and felt for Ron's pulse, reading his watch. Hermione tried to keep the panic threatening to overwhelm her at bay as she watched Harry bustle through a few basic spells. "He seems alright," Harry said at last, "heart rate is normal, at least, and no organs are crushed. His pulse seems strong. It's just hard to tell if there's any other damage."

Hermione felt her heart calming down a little. "How do we check?"

"A more experienced healer will have to do a full scan," Harry said regretfully, "but we can wake him up and see how he feels." He tapped his wand to Ron's chest and said, "Enervate."

Ron eyelids fluttered slightly and he groaned. Hermione squeezed his hand as he sat up slowly, rubbing at his lower back. "What happened?"

"Two curses hit you," Hermioned answered. "How do you feel?"

"M'ok," Ron said, while Harry and Hermione both examined him suspiciously. "Seriously, I'm fine," he reiterated, pushing Harry's arm away and standing up shakily.

"There's no way those spells did nothing," Hermione argued, as she and Harry also stood.

"Maybe they were just meant to stun," Ron suggested.

"They looked nothing like stunning spells; they weren't red-"

"Mione," Ron interrupted. "I'm fine, and our thief is getting away. Stop arguing, let's go."

Hermione looked over at Harry who seemed equally as doubtful of Ron's admission, but finally shrugged. "If he says he's ok…"

"Fine," Hermione snapped irritably. If he wanted to hurt himself more, that wasn't on her. "What do we do next, then?"

The three of them swept the cavern, but found no new passages or doors. The imposing structure of ivy remained, although now still, stretching into the darkness. Hermione stood at the foot of it, looking up, a sinking feeling in her stomach. Ron appeared next to her.

"We have to climb this, don't we?" She asked.

"Fraid so," Ron answered, "unless you think we can fly or something?"

"Worth a shot, but not very likely," she replied. They attempted some levitation charms, but as she predicted the spells didn't work near the wall.

Hermione never liked heights. Flying a broom was one of the few magical things she could honestly say she was less than proficient at. She peered up at the stone leaves protruding like a climbing rock wall, feeling the familiar tingling sensation in the soles of her feet.

"Look," Ron suggested, conjuring a rope. "We'll tie it around your waist and mine, so we can be each other's safety nets."

She nodded, grateful, but consumed by the rolling knots in her stomach.

"Ready?" Harry asked. They lined up near the wall and looked at each other. "I'll go up ahead of you two and see if I can throw something down to help. See you at the top." Ron nodded, and then all three began to climb.

Hermione put one leg up on the edge of a frozen leaf and pushed herself up to grab at one above her head. Her fingertips slipped immediately and she stepped right back down on the ground, sucking in her breath.

"It's my sweaty hands," she said apologetically to Ron, who was a few meters off the ground, but couldn't go any further without her because of the length of the rope.

"S'ok," he encouraged.

She tried again, this time making it successfully up several leaves so she was level with Ron. She clung closely to the wall, half laughing, half crying, and fully terrified.

"Look at me," she moaned, "we're only a few meters off the ground. I'm never going to make it, Ron."

"Of course you will!" He exclaimed.

She gulped. "Maybe I should just wait down here for you and Harry. We don't even know how far up this goes."

"Mione, look at me," he coaxed. She opened her eyes and looked at her friend, overwhelmed by the trust and sincerity in his expression. "You can do this. One leaf at a time. I'll be with you the whole way."

They moved slowly up the wall, Ron encouraging her with gentle words. She never looked down, and lost complete track of time. They could have been climbing for days and she wouldn't have been surprised. She focused on Ron's voice, moving methodically up the wall.

"Harry must have cast an orb of light," Ron noted, "we're well above the glow of the torches by now."

"How far ahead of us is he?"

"Not so much," Ron answered amiably.

She tsked disbelievingly.

"Yeah, I can't see him anymore," Ron admitted. "He'll help us when he gets to the top though, so just keep going!"

As she reached for the next handhold, her foot slipped. For two of the slowest heartbeats of her life, Hermione watched her own hand miss its target as her balance was thrown backwards. Then she was falling, falling, her worst fears realized. The rope unexpectedly pulled taut, pinching her waist, and Ron grunted loudly. She hit against the wall hard, knocking the wind out of her, scrambling to find purchase on any of the leaves. Once she was supporting her own weight again, she hugged the wall, shaking and sweating. For a few moments the only noise was her erratic breathing as she struggled to slow her heart beat down.

"Are you ok?" She heard Ron inquire, his voice floating down to where she clung to the wall beneath him.

"Yeah," she answered. "My hands are shaking like crazy. Just give me a minute."

"The rope works!" Ron said positively. "But I'm not sure I like your instincts when you fall."

"Are you... are you suggesting that you think I fell... incorrectly?"

"Absolutely. Make a noise, woman! What if we hadn't been tied together? You would have fallen silently and no one would have known. What kind of person doesn't shout when they slip?"

She felt a laugh bubbling up in her at the absurdity of the situation, and moved her head slightly to look up towards Ron. He was peering down at her from between his legs, grinning.

"Almost ready?" He asked.

"Yeah," she repeated. "I guess I have to."

They only climbed for a couple more minutes before they heard Harry shout. "I'm at the top, you're not far! Let me tie up a rope ladder or something, hold on."

When he lowered it, Hermione was very relieved, and although she was still cautious, the trip to the top was much easier. When they'd all scaled the edge and untied, Hermione scanned the room. It was an antechamber with a large double door in the back.

They crossed the chamber quickly, and Harry silently counted them down at the doors. He and Ron thrust both open at the same time, and they all stepped into a room that held a few closed chests, many bags of gold and gems, a single person. Hermione stopped mid-stride, frozen with shock.

In the pale lighting, Chris looked the same as ever. His full head of dark, neatly combed hair was pulled into a low, short ponytail, complimenting his mustache, which Hermione knew he meticulously groomed. Chris's eyes were the color of green olives, and nearly as watery, although they gleamed with a cunning intelligence behind his frameless spectacles. He was very angular, from the sharp planes of his face to his tall, lean frame. Though similar in height to Ron, he was not nearly as broad. (Hermione decidedly ignored her subconscious comparison of the men.)

When he saw who interrupted him, Chris cracked a huge, toothy smile. "Hermione," he spoke with the slightest of French accents, "I was wondering when we'd run into each other again."

"Who're you?" Harry demanded, drawing his wand and stepping in front of her.

"Chris." Ron spoke, his voice very deep, and Hermione looked at him sharply. How would he know that?

"Very good, Auror Weasley," Chris said approvingly, flourishing as he performed a small bow. "I got you and Harry Potter. The Ministry sent their most famous team; it's very flattering, and wonderful to know I'm in the highest of company."

"You've been the one stealing magic, trying to create explosives?" Hermione asked him, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Oh yes. Isn't it brilliant? I knew you'd be impressed," Chris grinned, misreading her emotion. "The brute force that is our governments would have us destroy these sources of power, but we're too smart for that, aren't we Hermione?"

"We?" She asked faintly.

"We're going to have to take you in," Harry said, stepping closer to the tall man.

"Ah, but you have a bigger problem," Chris gestured towards Ron, and Hermione had to look at him closely before she let out a small squeal. From the knees down, Ron had been turned to stone, and it seemed as though the affliction was moving up his body. He didn't seem surprised at this revelation, and instead glared at Chris, who was putting on a long, dark cloak with great embellishment. "I have not found what I was looking for here, but I still think I shall take my leave of you."

"No, you don't!" Ron snarled, unable to walk. "Get him Harry!" Harry was already running, casting spell after spell at Chris, who dodged and blocked them all with an elegant calmness.

"Hermione, mon amour, I hope I shall see you again soon." With a loud crack and flash of light, Chris turned on his heel and was gone.

"Dammit," Harry yelled, still running towards where Chris had been standing. "How did he apparate out, Hermione?"

"The apparition shields sometimes work one way," she called over her shoulder, never looking away from Ron, "so you can get out but not in, once you're in the heart of the bunker."

She crossed over to him in several strides, Ron meeting her glare defiantly.

"How long?" She demanded, conjuring a table and throwing her bag down.

"The whole time," he said obstinately.

"You climbed the wall like this?" She was unpacking her tools angrily, struck by the deja vu of the situation.

"It was just some toes at first and then a foot. I didn't want you to worry," he said. "There was a time urgency, if you recall."

"Ron, if I can't stop this…"

"You will," he shrugged. "I trust you."

She made an exasperated noise. "That's… it's not the point!"

He threw that lopsided smile at her, the one she could never resist. "Better get going then." She tried to scowl and began to step through the standard tests and measurements.

"How do you feel, mate?" Harry asked concernedly, as he jogged over to rejoin the two of them.

"Kinda rocky," Ron joked. Harry and Hermione both glared at him. "Ah, so Harry- is anything missing?" He asked, changing the topic quickly.

"I don't think so," Harry answered, watching Hermione work. "It's hard to tell with the open bags but the chests all seem undisturbed. I imagine whatever powerful thing is here would have at least been locked in a chest?" Hermione nodded, answering his question. "I set protective enchantments already so Chris can't come back here. I'll get a message to Patterson to send in a team."

"Thanks," Ron said. His stone affliction had by now traveled halfway up his torso. Hermione felt like acid was rolling in her lungs and stomach, urgent and burning. This had to work. It just had to.

"Ok, Ron," she held up a vial of deep red. "Do your thing."

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Harry and Hermione watched him silently. With every second that ticked by, Hermione was sure she could see the stone crawling up his body. She wanted to tell him to hurry up, but bit her tongue.

His eyes popped open, the bright of blue shocking against his pale skin. "Greed. But, more than that."

"Covetousness," she affirmed. "That's fairly common when it comes to piles of gold."

"Yes," he nodded. "And the magic makes me feel like drowning."

"Water element- I figured based on the tests and proximity to the sea." She rummaged around in her bag and pulled out powered orchid, adding a measured spoonful to the vial. It gurgled and became bubbly like a carbonated beverage.

"You have to drink this one," she said softly, handing it over with uncertainty. She knew it was right, but there was so much at stake. "I don't think it's going to taste great."

"Cheers," he smiled at her, then threw it back like a shot. The effects were immediate, the stone falling away in chunks. Ron took a few steps then beamed. "Brilliant, Hermione."

"Glad you're alright," Harry clapped him on the shoulder.

"Thanks, mate," Ron said. "Hermione, do you have a contact we can send in to deal with the decaying artifact, now that we know who the thief is?"

"Yes," she said, "Good idea. I'll send an owl first thing when we get back."

_____

After they'd returned to the safe house and everyone had cleaned up, Harry and Ron sent their patronus messages to Patterson (who'd been upset at the disregard of his orders and hinted that they'd hear more about it when they got back) and arranged for an owl for Hermione, who was able to send her message out as well. They'd ordered takeaway Chinese for dinner and enjoyed a couple hours of playing cards before they'd all retired early, sleep overwhelming them.

A few hours later, however, Hermione found herself wide awake, laying in her bed and staring up at the ceiling. Thinking that she'd make some tea, she threw on a fluffy bathrobe, checked her head wrap in the mirror, and crept quietly to the kitchen.

She put the kettle on and sat on a stool at the counter, opening up a book. She'd barely made it a page when she heard a gentle knocking. She looked up to see Ron standing in the doorway, dressed in flannel pajama bottoms, an infectious smile lighting up his features.

"Didn't want to scare you. Can't sleep. Mind if I join for a cuppa?"

"Sure," she gestured to the seat across from here. He sat down, his broad shoulders favorably stretching out his white t-shirt.

"What're you reading?" He asked.

"Through the Looking-Glass," she answered, holding it up. "It's a muggle classic," she explained, smiling at his look of confusion.

"Would I like it?"

"No," she was laughing again. "I don't think you would."

"I like seeing you smile," Ron said, mirroring her grin with his own. The kettle began to whistle and he got up, pouring her tea.

"Milk, no sugar," he offered her the mug, which she accepted gratefully. He sat down again, and they sipped in silence for a few moments.

"Ron," she asked him. "How- how did you know that was Chris?" She glanced up at him, holding onto her tea mug tightly. "You've never met him before, have you?"

"No," his bearded jaw clenched slightly. "I haven't met him, but I had a suspicion that he was our thief."

"But you said 'him' before we even left today," she pressed Ron. "We've been calling the thief 'they,' but today, right before we left, you definitely said 'him.'"

Ron shifted in his seat. "Yes, well…" He trailed off. She waited. "I began suspecting Chris after the jealousy thing in Beijing."

"Really?" She asked, surprised. "That long?"

"Yeah," he shrugged one shoulder, "Like you said, there aren't that many people in your field. That trap was almost definitely set for me specifically, and who in your field would feel jealous of me?"

"He was jealous of you? Why?" Hermione asked him incredulously.

Ron looked at her as though she was being thick. "You, Mione."

"What?"

"Chris either knew or suspected that I had brought you in to help with this investigation, so he set a trap for me, maybe accidentally imbuing the magic with his envy."

"But what is there to be envious of?" She repeated, "It's not as though you and I are- I mean at least we weren't-" Hermione stopped talking, feeling very hot.

"Doesn't matter," he said simply. "I just… I know what it's like to be jealous of someone else spending time with you."

She met his intense gaze, as they sat quietly, processing this bold statement.

"And anyways," he continued, breaking eye contact. "It was kind of a stretch, I agree, which is why I didn't say anything to you or Harry about it. But then yesterday you mentioned that he'd blown up a site that you would have never gone to."

"So?"

"So he set another trap, but this time he knew you'd be with me. He had to set it in a place that would send a message, while also being extremely unlikely to hurt you."

"He did hurt people though," she protested, but Ron was shaking his head.

"Not people, Mione. You."

"You keep saying that," she burst out, frustrated. "It's been years and years Ron, it's not like that with him and I anymore."

"I know it's not for you," he said kindly. "But I think that it is for him. You heard him tonight. He's half convinced that you're in on his plan. It borders on delusional."

She wanted to protest, but maybe Ron was right. Hadn't Chris called her 'my love' on his way out?

"So it's my fault," she whispered, horrified, feeling her eyes stinging with tears. "It's my fault those agents died."

"Hey," Ron reached across the table, grabbing her hand in his own. "That's not true, Mione. He controls his actions, not you. None of this is your fault."

She clung to his hand, hoping that what he was saying was true. When she raised her head, he was watching her tenderly. His thumb began to trace slow circles on the back of her hand.

"So listen," he said softly. "I think I owe you an apology. Last night, I… I should never have…"

"Oh." She pulled her hand away and leaned back from the table.

"No! Not like that. I loved snogging you!"

"Oh?" She asked, surprised.

He rubbed both hands on his head, frustrated. "Ah, I just mean… If anything happened to you, Mione, I'd never forgive myself." His voice was rough; it sent a tingle down Hermione's spine. "I think... I think we need to stay focused on the mission. Just…" He paused, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Just the mission."

"Yeah," she replied automatically, ignoring the way her heart was compressing. "Definitely, the mission comes first." She stood, grabbing her mug. "I think I'll go to sleep now, Ron. Thanks for the tea. Good night!" And she ran up the stairs before he could see the disappointment written so clearly on her face.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey HP fans, I'm happy you're here. Ron and Hermione do a lot of talking in this one, but it's good for them. I hope you enjoy it; please leave me a review!
> 
> PS- I have some travel planned in the next couple of weeks to see family, so the posts maybe a bit less frequent. I solemnly swear that I'll do my best.

Ron  
_____

A few weeks after arriving back from Italy, Ron found himself sitting in the familiar conference room of the Auror department at the Ministry. All the remaining field agents had made it home safely, along with the discovery of at least five empty relics without corresponding explosion sites. Meaning, as Hermione reminded him, that it was likely Chris had successfully extracted the equivalent of at least five magical bombs.

He leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head, trying to focus on the board of pinned notes in front of him. As it was a Friday night, the office was empty except for him and the piles of documents surrounding him. Newspaper clippings, maps, notes on all the relics, explosion sites- the team assembled it all in the conference room, struggling to find organization and see patterns. Where was Chris the most likely to strike next? He had been strangely quiet the past couple of weeks, and it was setting Ron on edge.

"Knock knock." Hermione stood in the doorway, holding a couple takeaway coffees. He wasn't sure if it was the gift of caffeine or the look of her in a blazer and jeans, with curls slowly escaping the confines of her bun, but she looked very alluring in that moment. "Figured you'd be in." She gave him a small smile and handed him one of the cups, taking another seat at the messy conference table.

"Yeah, still trying to find a lead." Taking a big drink, he watched her from the corner of his eye, noting her intense gaze at the same board he'd just been studying. She drummed her fingers across one of the haphazard notebooks absently, scrunching up her face in that adorable way that she did when she was concentrating.

Since their return from Italy, she'd been nothing but professional and friendly. Still, Ron thought she felt more distant than ever. They'd spent almost ten years as inseparable best friends in school, were soldiers together in an intense war, spent another ten years as long distance best friends who bordered on flirty but‒ noncommittal? And now, to be thrust back into close proximity, and in such intense conditions... He guessed they just hadn't figured out what their new balance was yet. Even more complicated, he wasn't entirely sure he knew what he wanted that new balance to be. It was one thing to flirt with his best friend and another thing entirely to analyze his feelings for her.

He ran his hand over his face tiredly. This is why he needed to focus on the mission. He was wildly distracted thinking about Hermoine, and all she did was walk in the room.

"Let's go over what you know about him," he said, trying to get his mind back on task.

"Again?"

"Once more."

"Alight," she stood up begrudgingly, still holding her coffee, and pointed to the section of the board where they'd tried to outline what they knew of Chris's personality. "Very intelligent, top of his class at Beauxbatons."

"Driven, ambitious" Ron added, counting off on his fingers, "Like you, he was motivated to study beyond school, publish research papers, travel for his job."

"Jock complex," Hermione listed. "He was always so insecure around people who made their livings physically instead of intellectually. He would overcompensate, trying to prove he was smarter, better than them."

"Not that I'm not impressed by that analysis," Ron commented, putting his hand down on the table. "But it is an oddly scientific thing to say about an ex."

"Yeah, I know." She flopped back in her chair. "I spent a lot of time thinking about why we broke up after it happened, and I think that was a big piece."

"Makes sense," he nodded. "Ok." Ron took Hermione's place by the board and gestured to a different section. "Let's talk about his motivation."

She blew out her breath. "Ah, that's harder."

"We know he seems upset at being asked to destroy the decaying magic," Ron started. "He called them, what was it? 'Sources of power' and kept saying he was too smart to destroy them."

"Yes," she agreed. "He also referred to the government as operating with 'brute force,' which coupled with his jock complex, I suppose he could have a vendetta against… what? The Ministry? All of it?"

"I don't know either," Ron sighed, rubbing his knuckles against his forehead. "And then finally," he gestured to one last piece of the board, which was underlined three times, "he seems to be obsessed with you, Mione."

"I wish you'd take that part out," she frowned.

"I know you do, but I can't." She tsked, annoyed. "Maybe it's not unrequited love, Mione, but he clearly felt he had something to prove to you specifically, and I can't ignore that."

They studied the board in awkward silence.

"It still doesn't give us enough to predict his next move," Hermione murmured.

"No," he was frustrated, but she was right. He sat down, staring at some papers on the table moodily.

"He's different from how I remember him." She finally said, softly.

"How so?"

"The Chris I knew wanted to preserve knowledge, to protect people from unnecessary harm, to forward advances in magical research. Yes, he could be fairly ambitious and I don't know… flashy. But at his core, he wanted to help make the world better."

"You seem like you miss him." Ron tried to keep the slight bitterness out of his voice.

"Oh… No, not anymore," she reflected. "That was a lifetime ago. It's crazy to think that he used to be my best friend, but now he's like a perfect stranger."

"I'm sorry," Ron rested his hand on hers lightly. "This case must be hard."

She shook his hand off quickly and stood up abruptly. "It's fine, I can handle it."

He was startled by her sudden coldness. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she bit back, turning her back on him to examine a map.

Ron was tired, and knew his patience was wearing then. "What am I supposed to have done wrong now, then?" He asked loudly, standing up as well.

"You're hot, you're cold." She spun around, gesturing wildly. "You kiss me, then tell me to be professional, without even asking how I felt about the kiss. You seem bitter about Chris, then try to console me about him. You flirt with me one minute and turn it off the next. It's hard to know how to act around you!"

Ron froze, feeling his heart flutter. "How did you feel about the kiss?"

"I- did-" She spluttered, "Did you even hear anything else I said?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, taking a step closer to her. "But I want to know how you felt about the kiss."

"It hardly matters anymore, does it?" She answered quietly.

"It matters," he whispered back, reaching out tentatively and grabbing her hand gently. "I know I didn't handle… everything properly. We've been through a lot, you and me."

"You're my best friend." She squeezed her eyes shut. "We've been through so much." She opened her eyes, imploring him to understand. "I know we've not lived in the same place for awhile, but whenever we're together again, it's like no time has passed at all."

"I feel the same way." He tucked a curl behind her ear.

"So... I can't lose you the way breakups make me lose people," she shook her head. "Then I would have nothing."

"I didn't ask you to break up with me," he said with a small smile. "I just asked how you felt about the kiss." He braved another step, placing his big palm on her waist, feeling her lean into him slightly.

"I felt like..." she bit her lip, and he was unable to tear his eyes away from it. "Like it really should have been more awkward than it actually was." One hand reached up, cupping his face gently. "So can we please stop being uncomfortable around each other now? It's been so weird since Italy."

For an answer, he pulled her into a tight hug, enjoying the smell of her shampoo and the feeling of her arms encircling him. "Yeah, Mione. I'm sorry I handled it badly. Let's go back to normal."

"Good." They broke apart, both smiling. "So," she rubbed her hands together, "we've got a mystery to solve."

They talked in circles for another couple of hours, trying on different conspiracies and mapping out potential target spots for the looming attack. Ron grew steadily more tired, and he was fairly certain they weren't going to make anymore headway tonight. He turned suddenly, rapping his knuckles on the table. "Let's talk about something more fun," he suggested. "I'll make popcorn."

Hermione blinked in surprise. The corners of her lips tugged upward. "Popcorn?"

"It's a great late night chat snack," he said obviously, crossing over to the tiny kitchenette in the corner of the room and rummaging around in one of the cabinets. "Also I haven't had dinner yet and I imagine you haven't either. Ah, some kernels."

Hermione watched as he magically popped the corn on the single burner stove and brought a big bowl over. He resumed his seat and they both munched on it happily.

"So," he said, "any plans on moving home?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Really?" He sounded genuinely surprised. "That was a fast answer."

"I've been thinking about it more lately." Hermione said, looking at the ceiling and playing idly with a stray curl on her shoulder. "Don't get me wrong, I love my job, and I love doing something that makes a difference." She paused, considering. "But I've been living on dig sites for over a decade. I liked all the travel and exploration at first, but the novelty's worn off I think."

"The untamable Ms. Granger, ready to settle down?" Ron smirked as he leaned a forearm on the table.

"Ah, I wouldn't go that far," she smiled, throwing a piece of popcorn at him. "My goal right now is to sign a one year lease on a flat in London. Not sure what the future holds beyond that."

"Yeah, I relate to that feeling," Ron reflected. "But what about work?"

"Well," she said tentatively. "I've actually been considering a career switch."

"Like what?"

"Kingsley suggested it, when I was chatting with him last Christmas at the Burrow," she explained. "I haven't mentioned it to anyone yet, but it sounds very interesting."

"And what would it be exactly?"

"Wizarding laws and practices are wildly outdated. I obviously know a bit about the history of ancient magics and so could lend a lot of context to some of the really old legislature. I suppose I'd have to learn quite a bit about the practical side of it, but Kingsley thinks I could join the Legal team and help bring the entire wizarding world up to date."

He stopped chewing and stared at her, slack jawed. Quickly gulping down the mouthful of popcorn, he said sincerely, "That's brilliant, Hermione."

"You think so?" She asked, pleased.

"Yeah, that's an amazing idea. You could do so much good."

"I am quite intrigued by it."

"We can break out those SPEW badges again," he teased. She threw more popcorn at him. Ron laughed and tried to catch some out of the air.

"So, what about you?" she asked.

"I have been able to spend more time in England since I made that role switch a few years ago," he said. "Remember? From field agent to strategist. I mean, I still get called in to look at crime scenes quite frequently, but it's a day or two assignment instead of months at a time."

"Do you enjoy the work more?"

"I do," he said, his ears turning pink, "Patterson is working on a proposal now to open another department within the Auror office that focuses on building criminal profiles and long term strategy. And he's going to recommend me to run it."

"Ron, that's wonderful!"

"It would be a game changer," he said enthusiastically. "We don't do anything like this right now. We'd only know a repeat offender if the Auror who arrested the criminal the first time still happens to be on staff. I think people are going to resist some of the change, at first, but-" He trailed off, rubbing his beard and staring absently at the piles of papers around them.

"It's exciting though," she pressed.

"Definitely is."

By now their popcorn bowl was empty. Ron stood and flicked his wand to send the dish over to the sink. Another flick and it began to scrub itself.

"Nice one," Hermione said appreciatively, standing and stretching her arms over her head.

"Mum's been on me about it," he admitted, surreptitiously admiring the curve of her body as she stretched. "Says that since I'm insistent on being a lifelong bachelor…"

Hermione laughed outright. "You're not even that old!"

"You wouldn't know that, the way she goes on about it. At least I still have Charlie to carry some of the blame."

They packed up their bags and locked the office, walking through the empty corridors of the Ministry and chatting amiably.

"See you at Ginny's game tomorrow?" Ron asked her when they'd reached the apparition point.

"Yes, definitely. See you then."

_____

The Holyhead Harpies stadium was packed, the Saturday morning match against Puddlemere United drawing a good crowd. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat in the normal seats that Ginny reserved for them, with a good view near the center of the pitch but away from the press box, in the hopes that they would be able to avoid unwanted attention. Of course, Harry rarely went anywhere without this happening, but the team managers were accommodating and helped to sneak him into the seat, minimizing his contact with the crowds.

Ginny was playing quite well, Ron thought. Better than she did last season. She was hitting her stride, and just in time for the World Cup later that year. A Weasley on England's national team would be very cool, but he didn't want to jinx it by saying it out loud. Instead, he and Harry analyzed all the plays while Hermione enjoyed the weather happily, asking the occasional question.

It was nice to get out of that dingy office, and to let his mind have a break from circling the same pressing mystery nonstop. A part of him felt guilty for not working, but as Hermione repeatedly pointed out, 'brains needed to be stimulated in different ways in order to expect different results.' As urgently as he felt about stopping Chris, he had to admit that taking this break was doing wonders for his spirit. He felt so nice, sitting in the sunshine, reunited with his two best friends, and watching his sister kick serious ass.

He should have known it was too good to last.

Without any warning, the box seats reserved for Ministry officials exploded violently in a deafening roar.

The explosion sent the crowds nearest the box flying. People were shrieking; Ron's ears were ringing. Slightly seeing double, he watched Ginny, who'd been flying nearby, get thrown off her broom and hit the ground hard. He grabbed Harry's arm as his friend tried to run into the chaos after his wife. He checked on Hermione, who had cuts on her face from flying debris, and seemed to be in shock.

"Ginny!" Harry was sobbing, although Ron could barely hear him. "Oh my god, Ginny!"

"Harry!" Ron grabbed him by both arms and spun him around hard. "Contact Patterson and meet me by Gate 9."

"I have to go after her Ron," Harry shouted hysterically.

"I know mate, we will. The sooner you contact Patterson the sooner we'll go in." Ron shouted back. "Harry!" Harry glared at him. "We can't blunder into this. She could get hurt even worse. Go call for backup. I will meet you in three minutes by Gate 9."

Harry's eyes seemed to clear slightly and he nodded tersely before sprinting off down the stadium stairs. Ron turned his attention to Hermione, who was sitting perfectly frozen in her seat, staring straight forward. He knelt down in front of her.

"Mione," he said gently, and saw her eyes dart to his quickly, nervously. "We have to go now. Can you stand?" She nodded, and took his offered hand. They began to walk carefully down the stairs, Hermione trembling slightly with every step.

"Are you hurt?" He asked her.

She shook her head. "No, I just… I can't believe…"

"I know." He squeezed her hand gently. "Let's just focus on getting safely out of here." When they exited the stadium a minute later, the gate was surrounded with Aurors and other Ministry officials, taping off perimeters and taking quotes from witnesses. An entire squad of Healers arrived and quickly erected a makeshift infirmary, funneling the injured inside. Ron led Hermione to the tent, instructed them to treat her for shock, planted a kiss on her forehead, and left.

He found Harry and Patterson, along with the rest of the Aurors and Magical Law Enforcement officers. He and Harry briefed the team on what they'd seen.

"We'll have to send in small groups to extract injured spectators and players," Ron told Patterson. "I couldn't tell if there were follow up enchantments, or if Chris himself was still onsite, so everyone needs to be on high alert."

"Do we have the list of Ministry officials who attended this match?" Harry asked. Patterson jerked his head at one of the department trainees, who took off sprinting immediately.

"We will soon," Patterson answered gruffly. "Alright everyone, here's the plan."

As Ron listened to his boss detail their next steps, his thoughts were spinning with possibilities. He hoped Chris was still onsite, because he had a lot of questions, and Ron Weasley intended on getting some goddamn answers.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one, and (fair warning) quite smutty at the end. I have a million qualifiers and disclaimers spinning in my head, but I'm going to try to refrain and just let the chapter speak for itself. 
> 
> I really hope you like it! Happy Monday everyone.

Hermione  
_____

Hermione sat in the emergency infirmary tent, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. One of the Healers handed her a measured pour of something smoking gently and encouraged her to drink it before bustling off. Chris had violently attacked a Quidditch match, THIS Quidditch match‒ and he had to have suspected she was going to be there. If she still had any doubt that his motives were directly related to her, this dispelled them. She felt the effects of the potion taking hold of her senses, causing the dull edges of the world to become slightly sharper.

From where she was sitting, she noticed a flash of red through the slit in the tent entrance, and jumped to her feet, shaking off the blanket. She opened the flap of the tent wider, and saw Ron moving with the teams of Aurors deploying more deeply into the stadium. Oh no, Hermione Jean Granger was NOT going to be left out of this fight. She took off at a run, ignoring the calls of the Healers behind her and weaving through the crowds to where Harry and Ron were standing by the gate. They nodded at her when she got there, as though they'd been expecting her.

A young Auror in training came sprinting up beside them, reporting rapidly to Patterson that he'd found the list of Ministry officials sitting in the box that night. The most notable was Sherri Robard, who was a high ranking undersecretary in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She was yet unaccounted for.

Frustrated at this news, impatient to find his wife, Harry jerked his head towards the stadium entrance. Ron and Hermione fell into step behind him quickly. Patterson looked like he wanted to protest, but Ron shot him an angry glare and said, "she's coming." Patterson immediately closed his mouth, and Hermione gave Ron a small, grateful smile.

They quickly and quietly maneuvered through the athlete's corridor, until they approached the pitch from the ground level. Coming out of the tunnel, Hermione's stomach turned over at the view of full destruction that greeted them. The box itself was ripped to pieces, looking like a large smoking torch at the end of the pitch. The three golden hoops had all fallen over, crushing the stadium seats behind them. Everything was coated in a layer of dust, and rubble stretched as far as the eye could see. Hermione could hear shrieks and cries of injured wizards, could see other Auror teams bustling through the scene, attempting to rescue as many spectators and players as possible.

Distressed, she began to move towards the nearest pile of robes, hoping to help someone- anyone- but a hand roughly grabbed her arm. She whirled around, and met Harry's slightly wild eyes. "Ginny," he said through gritted teeth, and she nodded tersely.

Harry quickly led the way to where they'd seen Ginny fall, all three on high alert. He broke into a run, shouting his wife's name. Hermione could faintly hear the answer, spurring her to run as well. Harry went to his knees near a figure pinned under a large chunk of rock, yelling for them to hurry. Ginny was covered in dust, her normally fiery hair looked like it'd been painted white. Hermione fell quickly to her knees, only vaguely registering that Ron remained on his feet, standing guard over them diligently.

Harry was cradling her head gently, his voice breaking, "Gin, oh Ginny."

"Hiya Harry," she answered softly.

He choked back a sob of relief. "Are you hurt?" Hermione asked, deftly levitating the boulder that had been pinning her legs to the ground.

"Thanks for that," Ginny said, licking her colorless lips, avoiding the question.

"C'mon love," Harry coaxed, trying to help her stand. "Let's get out of here."

Like flipping off a light switch, everything around the four of them went suddenly, completely black. Hermione let out a small shriek, reaching out blindly. She found Ron's hand as if by magnet, recognizing his large, rough, reassuring palm immediately.

"Peruvian instant darkness powder," Ron said. "Ginny, Harry, stay perfectly still. No matter what happens, let me lead the conversation."

"Understood," Harry answered.

"Fancy seeing you here." Chris's warm baritone voice echoed around them. "What is it you wanted to converse about Auror Weasley?"

"You've stepped up your game, Chris," Ron flattered. "Impressive. A lot of people were very hurt this time."

"Yes, and hopefully some Ministry drones are dead," came the lighthearted response. The darkness around them was beginning to lift incrementally.

"Anyone in particular?" Ron asked, keeping his tone friendly. "Madam Robard, perhaps?"

"Perceptive as always." Hermione thought she could almost see Chris's toothy grin flashing through the darkness, like the Cheshire cat.

"Why her?" Ron asked.

"Her entire Department depends on muscle and dueling skills to define their worth. Won't they feel so threatened by the firepower I have now?" His answer lilted with tones of delight.

"Yeah," Ron waved impatiently. "We know that already, Chris, it's boring." Chris made an irritated noise, not liking the implication. "What I want to know," Ron continued, "Is, since there are higher ranking members in that department you could have gone after, why attack this one at this game?"

The darkness had almost completely dissipated, and Hermione knew she was not imagining that toothy grin this time. "Oh Ron," Chris tsked, his watery eyes flicking over to Hermione. "I think we both know the answer to that."

"Chris," Hermione interjected. "Is your plan really just to assassinate key members of the Ministry because you don't agree with them? And then what?"

They seemed to be enclosed in an opaque dome about twenty meters in diameter. From the outside, the other Aurors would not be able to see what was happening within. Chris stood in front of them, cutting a sharp figure in his high collar velvet cloak, seeming uncharacteristically ruffled by Hermione's question.

"What's wrong with that plan, Hermione?" His voice was still melodic, but more defensive. "Don't you think I'd be a marvelous leader?"

Ginny groaned quietly, leaning heavily on Harry and somehow looking paler than before. She wasn't bleeding externally, which worried Hermione greatly. Her leg was jarring, not holding any of the shape a leg should hold. No doubt she was in extreme pain, and they couldn't keep dragging this conversation out.

"Let's imagine that I, the average wizard, can get behind your methods in your rise to power," Ron spat. "Which is not a great start for your PR department, by the way. Why is it you want to take over so much?"

"People have always used power instead of brains to take charge." Chris shrugged elegantly. "I want to lead with brains, but if I have to use power to get there, so be it."

"But people have died." Hermione's voice was small, strained.

"They are insignificant." He waved his hand, as though swatting the idea away. "Don't you see, Hermione? A new wizarding world order where we embrace the ancient magics? Where brains lead instead of brawns? A few people dead? Oh well, the ends justify the means."

"Your logic is flawed," she said shakily. "A good leader doesn't disrespect life like that. The old magics embrace the idea of life, not death."

Chris threw back his head and laughed amiably. "Oh, you always did enjoy a lively argument, didn't you Hermione? I am looking forward to debating this with you more. For now though," he gestured around them, where they could see Aurors lined up around the outside of their dome, trying to break in. "I think our time is up again." He turned to Hermione, offering his arm, "would you like to go with me?"

"Chris, are you insane?" She unconsciously stepped back, aghast. The movement drew Chris's attention to the sight of her hand, still clasped in Ron's. His eyes narrowed and his voice lowered dangerously. "We'll see about that. Au revoir mon chérie."

He turned and disappeared just as the dome around them collapsed.  
_____

Several hours later, Hermione sat by Ginny's bed at St. Mungo's, sipping on a mug of coffee tiredly. She'd been surviving on the substance recently, she reflected. She'd been given more potion for shock upon arrival, but had turned it down. It was time that she accepted the bizarre role Chris was playing in these events, and in her life in general. She needed to come to terms with it, all of it.

She leaned forward in the armchair, peering closely at her friend's face. Ginny was already looking less pale, her usual slightly pink complexion regaining its natural hue. She began to stir slightly. "What happened?" She groaned, opening her eyes slowly but not moving otherwise.

"We're at St. Mungo's, Ginny," Hermione explained. "How much do you remember?"

"Ah, a strange man showed up at the pitch and then- nothing?"

"You passed out shortly after that man, Chris, left. Harry carried you out, and we came to St. Mungo's immediately. The Healers kicked us out of your room for almost an hour while they assessed you." Hermione paused, letting the information sink in.

"And?" Ginny asked impatiently, turning her head to look Hermione in the eye.

"Well, they said you had severe internal bleeding in your organs and your knee was absolutely crushed," Hermione reported gently. "They said they made good progress in healing, but they're going to keep you for a few days to gauge the full impact."

"Right." Ginny looked back up at the ceiling, gritting her teeth. "Guess I'll have to train all the harder for the World Cup." Hermione worried over the idea for Ginny, who right now seemed so small and pale. Her leg was in a sling and she hadn't even tried to raise her head from the pillows.

"Where's Harry?" Ginny asked.

"He was here the whole time, Gin, but got pulled away for some work stuff. He said he'd be back as soon as he could."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Ginny let out a long, loud breath. "This was my year, Hermione." Her eyes were wet, and Hermione knew her friend didn't cry easily. "I was playing so well. This was it." An injury in the World Cup year was heartbreaking. She reached for Ginny's hand, squeezing it. Ginny smiled at her sadly.

"If it's not this year, Ginny," Hermione said softly, "then we'll just have to plan to kick ass at the next World Cup."

"We were talking about trying for a family," Ginny confessed, looking up at the ceiling again. "I wanted to wait until after the World Cup, then try for a baby. So I'd have a couple years to hopefully recover before the next one, but if it didn't work out at least I already took my chance once."

"Listen to me," Hermione said sternly. "I know this is disappointing, but sometimes life changes our plans Ginny. You will only be thirty-three at the next World Cup, so I don't see why you can't still be a mom before then if that's what you want to do. And don't rule yourself out for this one yet!"

Half crying, half laughing, Ginny shifted to sit up a little, already looking stronger. "You're right, as always, Hermione. When did you get to be so wise?"

The question almost made her feel deflated. "Ah, I've made enough mistakes to finally learn from some, I suppose."

"Do you mean Chris?" Ginny reached for a small cup of jello on her bedside table, wincing slightly at the stretch. Hermione reached over quickly and handed it to her. "Harry's been keeping me in the loop."

"Yeah, that does make me feel like an idiot. But I also…" She bit her lip, averting her gaze from Ginny's. "I think I might also mean your brother."

Ginny squealed, giving Hermione a smug grin. "I knew it. You've been spending so much time together."

Hermione sighed. "Do you have the emotional capacity to deal with my drama right now?"

"Yes please!" Ginny exclaimed, eating her jello happily. "It distracts me from my own shit."

"Well, I haven't thought about him like that… I mean in that way... in such a long time."

"Bullshit." Ginny licked her spoon clean, shaking her head. "I call bullshit. I've been watching you check him out for a decade. Bit disgusting really."

Hermione fidgeted with the sleeve of her jumper. "I almost forgot how straightforward you are, Ginny."

Ginny grinned and winked. "I just call it how I see it."

"Ok, fine." Hermione flopped back in the armchair, flipping her hair over her shoulders. "He's obviously very good looking, and has grown the world's most infuriatingly distracting beard, is that what you want to hear?"

"You're a beard girl, huh?" Ginny asked. "Didn't have you pegged."

"Can we focus please?"

Ginny giggled. "I'll try."

"Ok, so yes, I'll admit that I've… admired him from afar." Ginny smirked again. "But recently, things have been feeling… erm... closer."

"I've always thought you two would be good together," Ginny said pensively, shaking the spoon idly. "But taking that leap into more-than-friends is a big one."

"It's too big of a leap," Hermione complained. "I'm not even sure what I want. What if I try and it ruins everything?"

"You know what's even scarier, Hermione?" Ginny asked seriously, "what if it doesn't?"

Hermione sank deeper into her seat, and her mind ran away with the idea. Image after image of Ron, her Ron: kissing, touching, cuddling, living. Of fancy dates and comfortable nights in, of being able to be together whenever they wanted and not starving for "next time," of going home together, just her and Ron, and not making excuses to want to be alone. She sat in that overstuffed armchair by Ginny's infirmary bed, completely frozen, mouth slightly agape, feeling her heart inflate, feeling her stomach flutter happily.

She could manage only two words: "holy shit."

Ginny started shaking with laughter. "I have to go," Hermione jumped out of her seat, beaming wildly. "Oh my god, Ginny, I have to go."

"Don't mind your crippled friend," Ginny called at her retreating form good naturedly. "I'll just be here!"  
_____

Hermione knocked on the door of Ron's flat, insides twisting traitorously in nervous knots, completely running on adrenaline. She heard him grumbling as he walked to answer it, and stifled a grin, bouncing on the balls of her feet. When he finally opened the door, she drew in a breath to talk, but was completely distracted by the view. Ron was shirtless, wearing soft grey sweatpants, a wet towel on his shoulder. She took in his broad, freckled physique, admired how the V of his hips dipped into the waistband of his sweats, even gaped at the curly auburn hair traveling down from his navel.

"I ah-" She tore her eyes up to look at him, expecting to see him smirking, waiting for him to tease her, but not anticipating the equal hunger in his eyes as he gazed down at her.

"Yes, Granger?" He asked roughly, putting one arm up on the door frame and leaning forward, towering into her space.

"Erm, I ran into Harry on my way out of St. Mungo's, and he said you'd gone home to change, and, ah-" she stammered.

"You wanted to watch?" He lifted an eyebrow.

"No! Of course not!" She was fidgeting with the bags in her hands, then remembering them, held them up wildly. "I brought us food, are you hungry?"

His deep voice chuckled and he moved slightly, allowing her to squeeze past him into his one bedroom apartment. She busied herself unpacking the food at the small dining room table, avoiding looking at him. She was not prepared for this; how was she going to be able to confess any kind of feelings for this man? Half deciding to abort the mission, she finally turned around.

He was leaning against the back of the couch, still shirtless, watching her and looking amused.

"What'd you get?" He asked.

"What?" She realized she had been staring again.

"For dinner," he laughed, "what did you get?"

"Oh, I just swung by the Leaky Cauldron. Hannah has that new menu and all."

"Sure," he assented. "How's Ginny? I was going to check on her tomorrow. Figured Harry would want some time with her."

"She's ok," Hermione answered. "Worried about her season, but since we don't really know the full extent yet…"

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "Shall we eat?"

"What?" She squeaked. "Don't you want to put a shirt on or something?"

"This?" He asked, standing up from the couch and holding his arms out. "I figured I'd keep it, seeing as you barged in here to see the show-"

"Oh shut it," she said, pushing him playfully. Quick as a snake, his large hands circled her wrists, turning her push into a pull as he tugged her gently to him.

She looked up at him, marveling at the kindness in his eyes, even as he teased her. She felt her heart hammering, steeling herself to be brave. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and whispered, "what if- what if I am here to see the show?"

His eyes seemed to darken, the blue more intense, desire heating them. His arms encircled her completely, pulling her flush against his body, as he answered huskily, "I would say to be careful what you wish for."

She pushed up on her toes, bringing her face as close to his as she dared. "Kiss me?"

He closed the distance between them, his lips touching hers gently. She put her palms on his chest, marveling at the feeling of his hard skin under her fingertips.

He gasped slightly under her touch, kissing her now more fervently. His hands slid down her back, cupping her bottom eagerly. She parted her lips to allow his tongue entry, her head dizzy from the feeling of his soft lips on hers.

She broke away and began to explore his broad chest, licking and sucking, feeling a little jolt of satisfaction every time she elicited a moan from him. This was so natural, so wonderful. Her fingers tangled themselves in the auburn happy trail she'd been admiring earlier, slowly following its path as she let her lips fall into the hollow of his throat. She could feel his hardness against her leg, and her core tightened pleasurably in anticipation. She let her fingers dip below the waistband of his sweatpants.

"Mione," he groaned, his voice now so deep she felt it rumbling around in his chest.

"Yes, Ron?" She asked sweetly, pushing the tips of her fingers down another inch, tangling them in more of his hair, flicking the tip of her tongue against his nipple.

"Are- oh Merlin- are you sure about this?" She felt emboldened, all earlier concerns dissipated, riding the high of being with him.

"If this is wrong, then I don't want to be right." She moved to his other nipple, letting one hand slide completely under the waistband and grasping his cock firmly. She felt him twitch, and he growled, literally growled, before he quickly picked her up and spun them, sitting her on the back of the couch. He was between her legs, their faces almost level now. She was delighted at how he looked, flustered, lips swollen, eyes intense with desire. Her core tightened further, tingling, soaking wet. She placed her hands on his chest again, rubbing his pecs and abs, kissing his neck, trying to get more of him.

He grabbed both her wrists, holding her still. "Hold on, I can't think when you're doing that." He studied her, searching her face. She knew he was requesting confirmation, needing to be completely sure that this was what she wanted.

"Ron," she locked her eyes to his. "I need you. Not just now, all the time. I want this every day for forever. Now please for the love of everything good in the world, fuck me."

He positively lit up, almost too bright to look at. She laughed lightly, ecstatic at his response. He brought one of her wrists to his lips and kissed it gently, never breaking eye contact. "Promise me," he said, repeating the action with her other wrist.

She cupped his face and whispered, "on Firebolts and hippogriffs."

He reclaimed her lips in his, and she felt him smiling. He pulled back a fraction, settling his hands behind her head. "Why now?"

She leaned her forehead against his. She felt so light, bubbling to the brim. "Part of me feels like we've always been on this path. You are brilliant, loyal, and kind. You make me better." She locked her legs around his waist, pulling him closer to her. "You're my best friend, you're very sexy, and you kiss like a god. Isn't that enough?"

He smirked, kissing her brazenly on the lips again, then he wound his fingers through her hair and pulled on it gently, exposing her neck to him. He ran his tongue up the side, whispering with hot breath in her ear, "I am always at your service, Mione." He peppered kisses down her neck, and she shivered pleasantly. She leaned back, pulling off her own shirt. "Eager are we?" He chuckled, pushing the bra straps off her shoulders and cupping the thin lace.

"Better get to work," she teased.

"Finally, a job I like." He buried his face in her chest, using both hands to tweak and tease her nipples through the bra while he kissed every part of her he could. He deftly reached behind her back and removed the offending garment, stopping to admire her budded nipples against her dark skin as they begged for his attention.

He began to lick and bite lightly, oh so lightly, unrelentingly teasing her breasts, alternating between tongue and fingers. She squirmed and moaned, calling out his name, demanding more. He slowly applied pressure, squeezing lightly, sucking harder. The pace was driving her wild. She rocked her hips against him, rubbing against his long hardness, trying to alleviate some of the tension in her core. He slid one hand down, mouth still worshipping her chest, and quickly unbuttoned her jeans. When his fingers finally slid inside her underwear and against her clit, they both released unbridled moans. Hermione nearly collapsed, Ron's other arm supporting her weight.

"Fuck, Mione, you're so wet."

"Well it's your fault isn't it, teasing me so much. Merlin, I'm wound up so tight I could get off like this."

"Not like this." He swept her up easily and carried her to his bedroom. He deposited her on the edge of the bed and pulled off her jeans and underwear all at once. He slipped out of his sweatpants and she saw his cock standing up starkly, striking an impressive silhouette. She tried to pull him to her, but he resisted, going instead to his knees at the edge of the bed and putting her legs up on his shoulders.

"You are so beautiful," he said, running his hands along her. He trailed kisses up and down her inner thighs, reaching up with his hands to tease her nipples lightly again. She whimpered and laid back. She felt like she would orgasm if he so much as breathed on her. "Enough teasing, please Ron," she begged.

He obliged, licking her from bottom to top slowly. When his tongue made contact with her clit, she twitched slightly and moaned. He built up momentum, licking and sucking, still squeezing and flicking her nipples. When he inserted two fingers into her, she cried out, grabbing handfuls of his hair and tightening her legs around his head. He doubled down with his tongue, focusing now only on her clit, moving his fingers faster. The pressure was building in her core, tighter and tighter.

"Oh fuck Ron, I'm going to-" and then she fell over the edge in pleasure, crying out. Everything tingled as she rode out the sensation, muscles twitching and throbbing. He kept a light pressure with his tongue, until she laid still, breathing hard.

"Holy shit," she managed, speechless not for the first time that evening. He slid up her body, kissing her passionately on the mouth. She could taste herself and him all mixed together and it was wonderful. He maneuvered her so her head was on the pillows, and he positioned himself gently on top of her.

"Can I?" He asked. She looked down and saw his cock, almost painfully hard, pulsing by her entrance. The view made her blood rush again and she nodded enthusiastically.

"Fuck yes, Ron, please." He slid into her easily, as though they were made to fit together.

"Oh gods, Mione," he hissed, biting her shoulder. She could feel him throbbing inside of her and she tangled her hands in his hair, gasping at the sensation. He began thrusting, filling her up completely, and she buried her face into his neck, fingernails trailing down his sweaty back. Her core was already tightening again, and she raised her hips to allow him a better angle. As he sped up, both of them moaning each other's names, she felt that a lifetime of this would hardly be enough.

_____


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello fellow readers! Welcome back- for anyone who noticed, I took a short break to visit family and work through some blocks in the next two chapters. They are big ones, and I want to be sure I did them justice. I hope to publish the next chapter later this week, as we will dive quite a bit into Chris, and I'm excited to finally share some of my ideas surrounding him. 
> 
> For now, without anymore of my ramblings, please enjoy this latest update, and as always, let me know if you like it!

Ron  
_____

Ron rolled over the next morning, reaching across the bed. It took him a second to realize why the emptiness he found there was confusing. Had he dreamed up the amazing encounter? His eyelids fluttered, taking in the mess of sheets beside him, and the scent of sex and Hermione that filled his nose was intoxicating. No, he surmised, it had definitely happened.

He sat up slowly, almost dreading what he'd find. Had she left because she regretted him? Had they ruined their friendship? He peered around the room, almost sighing in relief when he spotted her pile of clothes beside the bed. She surely would have taken those with her if she'd been trying to make a get away. He felt the knot in his stomach loosen.

He stood, peeling the sheets away from his sweaty body, and pulled on his old sweats. He sleepily walked towards the living room, finding Hermione sitting on his couch. Her dark, tightly coiled hair was frizzy, and she was wearing his old t-shirt, contentedly reading the Daily Prophet. The slight unease in his stomach stirred up again. She could still regret it. Would she want a repeat, or would she tell him it was all a big mistake? He stood in the doorway, smiling slightly as he watched her peruse the newspaper and sip on coffee. He'd always loved how she wrinkled her nose expressively while she read, signposting her feelings without saying anything at all. In a couple of silent minutes, he'd managed to work away all the anxious feelings. This was Mione. No matter what happened, no matter which way she wanted to go from here, he was confident that she would always be in his life. As long as he had that, everything would be alright.

"Hey," he said gruffly, enjoying the sensation in his chest when she smiled up at him over the top of her paper.

"Morning," she replied. "There's coffee, but I haven't cooked anything."

He smiled, "sounds about right." He moved into the tiny kitchen.

"The first half of the Prophet is about the attack at the Holyhead game." Her voice carried through the pass-through window. "The eye witness accounts are accurate, but then the reporters indulge in another seven pages of speculation." He poured a mug and returned the carafe to the hot plate, listening to her ramble. "Honestly, none of the theories are even close to the truth." He walked back into the living room and sat in the armchair by the couch where she was perched. She looked at him curiously. "At this point, how do they not know the truth?"

"First," he said, bending towards her, "c'mere." Her expression of confusion changed to one of happiness, and she readily leaned forward over her newspaper. He cupped her face gently and kissed her. Pulling back a bit, he searched her face carefully. "How are you feeling this morning? Not about that," he gestured down to the newspaper, "but about…you know... this."

He held his breath, letting the question float. Hermione put her hand on his and turned her face slightly to kiss his palm. "Absolutely wonderful."

"Yeah?" He asked, unable to stop himself from grinning. He brushed his lips against hers again. "Good. Me too."

She beamed back at him. "To answer your question," Ron sat back in his armchair. "We've been trying very hard to keep Chris under wraps. Patterson has been pulling a lot of strings." He sighed. "But I think we're running out of time. Chris is getting braver."

She started folding the paper up, speaking tentatively. "I've... been thinking..."

"Uh oh," he said, but smiled at her encouragingly over his coffee mug.

She fiddled with the pages, avoiding his eyes. "We've been so reactive to this entire situation. What if we- I don't know- tried to be a little more proactive?"

"Like what, set a trap?"

"Erm, yes. Exactly like setting a trap."

He scratched his bearded chin thoughtfully. "I like the idea, and he is very power hungry." Ron shook his head. "But Chris is clever. I'm not sure there's anything we can tempt him with that he'll risk his own skin for."

She leveled him with a stare. "Isn't there?"

He looked back, thinking about it for a few seconds. Heart sinking, he put down his coffee mug and jumped out of the chair. "Oh no. That's a no, Hermione."

She stayed in her seated position on the couch, still shuffling around the newspaper, but speaking with more confidence. "Think about it, Ron. It wouldn't be hard to arrange a Ministry event that I would publicly attend. If we can present him with an opportunity to get at both high ranking officials and myself..."

"I will not use you as bait!" He stopped pacing and turned to face her, throwing his hands out to his sides. "Are you mental? If anything we should be keeping you under tighter security. Maybe put you in a safehouse, or use a Fidelius Charm."

Hermione shook her head. "I'll be perfectly safe-"

"You can't guarantee that!"

"It's really my decision-"

"Like hell it is!" Ron shouted, beginning his pacing again. She was aggravatingly composed, seeming to get calmer even as he got more worked up.

"You've said it yourself, the only times he's come close to making any mistakes were in taking risks to get to me specifically." She was still seated, newspaper forgotten, watching him trace and retrace the few steps he could take in his modest apartment.

His mind was working furiously, searching for alternatives. Putting whatever this was with Hermione aside, he could hardly think of a scenario where he would be ok with knowingly placing anyone in danger. Not friends, or family, or coworkers, or uneasy acquaintances, or strangers off the street. He'd use himself, fine, but someone else? No; it didn't matter who they were.

"Ron." Her gentle voice cut through his angry speculation, and he wheeled around to look at her. She held out a hand, and he crossed the room in two quick strides, going to his knees in front of where she sat on the couch. She put her arms around his neck. "We don't have to decide right now, ok? Let's get into the office and see what your team thinks." He nodded once, jerkily, and slid his hands up her thighs, settling them on her waist. She looked at him exasperatedly, affectionately. "You're going to try to find a different way, aren't you?"

He nodded again, shooting her a fierce glare. She grinned in return.  
_____

"This is mental," Ron muttered to Harry as they stood in the wings of an impromptu stage, watching Kingsley address a crowd of photographers and reporters.

"I know mate," Harry answered. "But we're ready. And technically," he reminded him, "you and I are in just as much danger as Hermione."

Ron had been outvoted once they'd gone back into the office, and despite his vehement protests, he'd contributed heavily to the plan that came together quickly. The Minister would announce a press conference to "bolster the spirits of the magical community in the wake of the devastating attack," including a photo opportunity with the Golden Trio themselves to show "solidarity in such trying times." The entirety of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was there, both openly placed and strategically hidden throughout the site. Defensive spells were cast, magical tripwires set, and communication devices prepared. They'd done everything they could think of, and now they just had to wait and hope the trap drew Chris out of hiding

"Okay," Ron got the attention of a dozen Aurors standing in the area, and nodded. "You know what to do." They dispersed quickly, slinking through the crowd to various entry points. They were to purposely weaken specific areas of the protective enchantments for explicit time limits, which hopefully allowed the teams to anticipate exactly where Chris would arrive.

"It's time," Harry muttered, and Ron looked up to see Kingsley gesturing to the wings, beaming while the crowd applauded. He and Harry stepped onto the stage, just as Hermione did from the other side. They walked and met in the middle, then Harry took the podium and began speaking about bravery in the face of struggle, and how Ginny, although she was still in St. Mungo's, would want everyone to stay strong. Ron exchanged looks with Hermione. She was visibly shaking, sweat dripping down her brow, even as she tried to smile for the crowd. Ron's anxiety rose, and he continued to scan the vicinity intensely.

"He's here!" A magnified voice cut across the space, interrupting Harry's speech.

There was a loud bang, and smoke covered the screaming crowd, screening their view from the stage. Ron, who'd been expecting this, stepped forward and shouted, "ventus!" A gust of wind blew out of his wand, clearing the smoke quickly and revealing a lone figure. Ron smiled cheerily at Chris, who was looking in shock at the empty space around him where the crowd should have been. "Hey Chris, thanks for joining us." More than two dozen Aurors crept out, encircling him until he was surrounded by wand tips. "Now!" Thick magical ropes wrapped around Chris's body, restraining him completely.

"Take his wand," Ron instructed, wheeling around and quickly striding to Hermione, who was leaning heavily on Harry. "How is she?"

"I'm fine," she said weakly, waving her hand. "Did we get him?"

"I think so, yes." Ron replied. "You did wonderfully, holding the illusion of the crowd for so long. The screams at the end were a nice touch."

They helped her into a chair on the side of the stage, where she smiled at him feebly. "I told you I could do it." The truth was, although they'd tried to find another Auror to take her place, she was the only one who could maintain the magic for so long with such accuracy. The effort required intense concentration and sapped her very quickly of her strength. Harry gestured for a Healer while Ron watched her concernedly.

"Should we talk to our prisoner, Weasley?" The gravelly voice of Patterson cracked over him, and he turned to see Kingsley waiting impatiently.

"That is really trippy," Harry muttered.

"Guess the Polyjuice hasn't worn off yet," Ron replied.

"And my recordings of Minister Shacklebolt aren't applicable," Patterson-Kingsley said impatiently, gesturing. "Let's go."

Harry and Ron walked down the stage steps and crossed the distance to where the large bundle of ropes laid prostrate on the ground, still surrounded by Aurors. Chris's glasses were askew on his nose, and although the lower half of his face was obscured, his watery gaze appeared pleased. He made eye contact with Ron and winked. Ron's gut turned uneasily, finding this behavior unnerving. Was this man simply unhinged? What could he be so happy about?

"Remove his gag," Ron said gruffly, squatting down in front of the bound man.

"Well, well, Auror Weasley," Chris piped when he could speak again. "They did warn me you were quite the chess player, but this was extraordinary. I truly did not see this coming." He smiled as toothily as he could with half his face pressed into the dirt. "I have to admit, it was wise to not have the real Minister for Magic here. He wouldn't have made it home alive."

"Overly confident for a man who can't move," Ron quipped, gazing at him, chilled by his antics. "We have you, Chris. Give up. You can't do anything now." Chris began giggling, and Ron had to raise his voice to be heard. "I hope you rot in Azkaban." Disgusted, he stuffed the gag back into Chris's mouth and stood, turning his back on him.

Ron had made it no more than two steps when he heard a sound like a deep boom, and felt a pulse of energy hit him in the back, throwing him a body length forward. The pulse spread out like a ripple in water, with Chris at the center, knocking over every single officer on site. Ron's head hit the ground hard, and he moaned as he struggled to push himself up, blinking wearily. He reached blindly, struggling to find the wand that had been thrown from his hand. As he came up with fistfuls of dirt, he looked back and saw, to his astonishment, that Chris was gone.

On pure instinct, he whipped his head around to the stage, where they'd left Hermione in the care of a Healer. Chris was there, hovering over where she laid passed out in the chair. He'd somehow shed the ropes, and in one smooth movement, picked Hermione up and stood, carrying her over his shoulder.

"No," Ron's heart felt agonizingly pierced, and he stumbled towards the stage, steadily growing louder as he yelled. "No! Hermione!" Chris grinned at him broadly, and with a loud crack, he was gone, taking Hermione with him. Seconds later, Ron fell to his knees beside the chair in disbelief, whispering softly, "no… no...Mione."

People began stirring, as the teams slowly regained consciousness. He registered the low murmur of activity around him, and heard as though at the other end of a long tunnel, the gravelly voice of his boss barking orders. Still he stayed on his knees by the chair, gripping the edges of it so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"Weasley." He ignored it, staring at the place where her body had been slumped only moments before. "Weasley!" Someone grabbed his shoulder, and he jumped to his feet abruptly, roughly pushing the anonymous body to the side.

"FUCK." Everything was starkly silent around him, the previous noises of movement abandoned as the entire site froze, eyes on Ron. "Can anyone explain to me," he shouted, lost to his grief and anger, "what in the actual fuck just happened?" He rounded on Patterson, who thankfully looked like himself now. He noted again the blunt quiet as he jumped off the stage and strode towards his boss. "Can anyone tell me why," he continued, his voice breaking and vision blurring, "Chris was able to KIDNAP the one woman we were trying to protect, amidst the ENTIRE fucking department of Aurors?" He came to a stop in front of Patterson, his chest heaving, feeling complete despair tear through his body. He knew tears were falling in streaks down his cheeks, yet he glared at the man before him.

"You forget yourself, Weasley," Patterson responded calmly.

"Yeah," Ron responded icily, "and I will gladly forget every single person here, unless I get some fucking answers." Patterson nodded at someone over Ron's shoulder, and he wheeled around, throwing up his arm to cast a shield charm, forgetting until too late that he'd misplaced his wand. The stunning jinx hit him square in the chest.  
_____

Ron woke up suddenly, thrust into consciousness by the Revival Spell. He shook his head, pushing himself into a sitting position. He was on the floor in his office back at the Ministry, with only Harry in the room as company. He was sitting in a chair, regarding Ron.

"I've had to do that too many times recently."

Ron groaned in response. "Stop staring at me."

"I'm worried about you," Harry said seriously. "You were like a madman back at the site."

"Well, he got Mione, didn't he?" Ron sighed, and leaned back against the wall, hitting his head rather harder than he meant to. All his anger from earlier dissipated, he felt complete despair overcome him.

Harry leaned forward. "I've never seen you like this." He cocked his head to the side. "At least not in a long time. Not since…"

"Malfoy Manor?" Ron supplied wearily.

"Yeah," Harry said, releasing a slow breath. "It's Hermione." It wasn't a question. Ron nodded. "How long?"

"Only once," Ron answered, finding himself exhausted. "A few days ago." He rubbed his face. "But I don't think that was going to be the end of it. Not as long as she'll have me. It's been a long time coming."

"Merlin, Ron," Harry sighed. "Patterson's going to be furious."

"Honestly, Harry," Ron raised his tired eyes up to his friends. "I'm sorry, but I don't give a fuck."

Harry chuckled darkly. "You made that very clear before. We don't have to stun members of our own team very often." Ron glared at him, and Harry held his hands up defensively. "Don't shoot the messenger."

They sat in silence for several minutes, Ron moodily trying to avoid the inevitable conversation. Finally, Harry broke the silence. "Listen, Ron-"

"He wants me off the case, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," Harry affirmed. "He thinks you're too emotionally involved, and when he finds out exactly how correct he is…"

"Can you at least tell me how it happened?" Ron asked, staring dejectedly at the ceiling.

"The thing is," Harry started, exasperated, "the plan actually was perfectly executed. We did take his wand, and set anti-apparation spells. The fact that he managed to basically create a sonic boom, undo his bindings, and apparate away-all without a wand- should have been impossible."

Ron was shaking his head, but Harry jumped in again. "I know you're going to say someone messed up, but I'm telling you Ron, I looked into all the details myself."

"That's completely absurd," Ron stated flatly.

"Says the man who can intuitively feel magic," Harry responded quietly.

They sat in silence again. Ron reflected on this idea. They understood very little about ancient magic, and even less about abandoned practices. "Could he have found methods to store spells for later?" Ron mused aloud.

Harry nodded. "That's what I was thinking. He could also possibly know how to- dunno- amplify magic? So he could overpower the anti-apparation ward?"

"He clearly was prepared to fight his way out," Ron said. "He never seemed alarmed by being captured."

"I know," Harry said dully. "We've owled other experts in magical archaeology, asking them to work as consultants on this case."

"Given his obsession with Hermione, it's extremely unlikely that he'll kill her." Ron stated, feeling his heart sink at the implication of his own words. "At least not quickly."

"Agree," Harry said. "She needs us, Ron." They locked eyes. "I won't tell Patterson about you two, and I'm going to recommend that you remain on the case for strategy only- no more field deployments- under the condition that you can keep your cool." He paused, regarding Ron's wan face. "Can you do that?"

"What, keep my cool?" Ron laughed sarcastically. "Try to stop me."

Harry stood, offering a hand to Ron, and pulled him to his feet. He handed him his wand, and clapped him on the shoulder. "We'll get her back."

"I know," Ron said, gritting his teeth, this time feeling anything but sarcastic. "Try to stop me."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a big one, team! I'm nervous and excited and I really hope you all enjoy this. I'll drop more thoughts at the end. Read away!

Hermione

_____

Hermione's head was pounding; maybe the pain was what woke her up. Maybe it was the sense of dread and fear rapidly filling her chest, or it could have been the sunlight beginning to filter through the tiny room where she laid. Regardless, Hermione opened her eyes with a throbbing migraine and a profound inability to process her surroundings. She was laying in a small bed, heaped with ratty blankets. The unadorned walls of the small room were made of unfinished wooden logs, seemingly worn down with age. Despite not being cold, she shivered and pulled the comforters around her tighter, closing her eyes and nestling deeper into the bed. She struggled to overcome the stabbing pain in her temples, willing herself to focus.

They'd set a trap for Chris, she remembered, and he'd walked right into it. She had seen him captured, and had felt relieved that he was finally, safely contained. But where was she? Her stomach was churning now, rapidly, a wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm her. She curled up, covering her head with her arms. She'd been exhausted, tired from casting a complicated and prolonged illusion. The Healer had been taking her vital signs, and over their shoulder she'd seen, as if in slow motion, Ron suddenly thrown from his feet. She began shaking as she remembered. Chis had stood up, breaking the ropes. A pulse of magic was heading for her, for everyone. She tried to react, to fight, but it had hit her hard and she'd lost consciousness.

Throwing off the blankets, Hermione leaned over the side of the bed and retched. She wiped her mouth, feeling her face covered in sweat, her hands shaking. She peered unsteadily around the room again as the inevitable truth hit her like a tidal wave. She must have been kidnapped. They must not have been able to stop Chris from taking her. She felt the panic rising, and somehow the throbbing in her head intensified. The soft light coming through the dilapidated windows seemed bright and offensive. She groaned and burrowed back into the blankets, unable to process, unable to do anything but focus on the overwhelming pain. She drifted back into a fitful sleep.

_____

This time, a loud knocking noise dragged Hermione into consciousness. She sat up warily in the same small bed, noting the room was much darker now. She rubbed her eyes, thankful at least that the blinding migraine she felt earlier had seemed to pass. She froze when the knocking noise sounded again. Without any more warning, the splintered door swung open.

Chris stood in the doorway, watching her beadily. They stared at each other in a prolonged silence, and Hermione was sure every wild beat of her heart must sound louder and louder.

"Would you like to join me for dinner?" He finally asked, flourishing his arm dramatically. Hermione cast her gaze about the room, struggling to strategize, remembering what Ron told her last week.

_***_

_Ron closed his office door and sat down in the chair next to her, sad eyes breaking her heart._

" _What is it?" She asked, alarmed. "What's wrong."_

" _Hermione, we need to be prepared for all outcomes. Including…" He fidgeted uncomfortably. "Ah, including the possibility of… of failure."_

_She peered at him curiously. "You mean he escapes."_

" _No," he leveled his gaze at her. "I mean he abducts you."_

_She drew in a sharp breath, feeling as though the floor had been pulled out from underneath her. He grabbed her hand, thumb circling the back of her hand in slow, reassuring circles. Her breathing gradually calmed down. "The thing is," he said gently, "there are certain things you can do, if you find yourself in that scenario, to help us with a rescue."_

" _Ok," she rolled her head, stretching out her neck, bracing herself. "Ok, you're right. Let's do this."_

" _First thing: your relationship with your captor." He sat back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. "Be cooperative. You want his sympathy. Get to know him. Make eye contact. The goal is to humanize yourself."_

_***_

Hermione was shaking and hungry, and it would be hard to escape without some knowledge of the building around her. Chris was so far being agreeable, so she nodded her head and slowly crawled out of the bed, standing shakily.

She took a few tentative steps, trying to look him in the eye, then said, "after you." He paused, looking frustrated at her rejection of his arm, but whirled around and walked into the hall. Hermione followed, doing a silent assessment of her situation.

_***_

" _Next," Ron continued, "pay attention to your surroundings. Focus on sensory things. Remember any helpful noises. Notice when the time changes. Keep track of days if you can."_

_***_

She was wearing the same robes as before, and did not seem to be injured, although she was definitely sans wand. The hallway was short, with only a couple doors leading off of it, and opened into a modest dining room. Every wall appeared to be made of the same wood, as though she was in an old Muggle log cabin. From the tiny windows she could only see glimpses of trees and dying sunlight.

The table had two place settings at either end, and a buffet of simple food adorning the length of it. Chris pulled out a chair and gestured for her to take it before he began to portion out the meal.

"You've been asleep for almost twenty hours," he said conversationally, as he placed a slice of roast on her plate. She didn't respond, but watched him silently. "I was beginning to worry about you." He continued to bustle about the table until both plates were stacked, then poured her some red wine and took his seat across from her.

"When did you start drinking wine?" Her question caught them both off guard, and he put his goblet down to eye her.

"He doesn't drink wine?" Chris asked suspiciously. "Why not?"

"What? I‒ what kind of question is that?" She was perplexed. He didn't answer, but picked up his silverware and began slowly eating. She followed suit, unable to resist the hunger of her unsettled stomach. For several minutes the only sound was the gentle clinking of cutlery against the plates. "How did you escape without a wand?" She ventured, feeling braver now with some food in her. "I saw you emit a powerful spell and escape your bonds."

He began grinning toothily, the familiar and disquieting sight of it causing her to grip her fork tighter. "The spells were contained on my person. Isn't that ingenious?"

"How?" She pressed, forcing herself to look at the olive of his eyes. "Do you have knowledge of the methods to create and enclose magics to be used later?"

"Is this not common?" He asked melodically, expression smug. "I suppose I am a rare talent."

She shook her head. "It's just… There are items like Secrecy Sensors that can be mass produced to perform specific functions, and then there are occasional unique items like the Mirror of Erised that perform complicated magics but are immensely difficult to come by." She took a small bite, watching him closely. "It's not normal for a wizard to be able to make their own devices whenever and however they please. That is a practice that was discontinued thousands of years ago, due to its unpredictable and dangerous nature."

He shrugged, raising an eyebrow. "Not to me. I perfected the art in my studies."

"In your studies?" She repeated faintly, the forked bite halfway to her mouth momentarily forgotten. "At Beauxbatons?"

"Ah yes, that's where he went," Chris nodded, brow furrowed. "I mean, where I went."

"What?" She was sure she was pushing her luck, but this conversation was confusing both in its topics and Chris's constantly changing demeanor.

"No, I learned it in my study of alchemy," he explained, spearing a piece of potato. She just stared at him, unsure of how to continue. She was very sure that Chris had never studied alchemy beyond the required introductory courses at Beauxbatons, and that definitely wasn't enough to uncover such outdated methodologies.

She took the bite, deciding to try another tactic as long as he seemed willing to answer questions. "Why have you kidnapped me?"

He paused to swallow, and then sat thoughtfully for several long moments. "I wish I understood that more," he answered finally, snapping his eyes to hers and pointing his steak knife towards her. "What is his obsession with you? Or at this point," he threw his cutlery down on the table and took a big swig of wine. "I can admit that it is also fully my own obsession." He leaned back in his chair, cradling his goblet and looking her up and down appraisingly.

She sat quietly, feeling his anger grow, trying to decide the best tactic to diffuse this situation she barely understood. He began speaking again, his voice growing more menacing. "You are admittedly intelligent, but so are many of his other colleagues. Is it because you were together romantically?" He peered at her beadily. "I thought so at first. I made it part of my facade. His thoughts of you bled into my mind," Chris tapped a finger to his temple, "so much that you became a star player in my act." He pounded a fist on the table, making her jump as the plates rattled. "But now, I don't think so. Now, I must know the truth. Are you a threat? You don't seem threatening." He glared at her, breathing angrily, and she stayed completely silent. This diatribe was unsettling, and she was unsure how to proceed.

He abruptly stood, smashing the goblet against the wall, and raised his voice. "When I came into existence again, and learned of the state of the world now, with overbearing governments and Muggle rights, I was disgusted." He took a step towards her, then pushed the table over, causing the food to fly. She winced and stood from her own chair, backing slowly into a corner. "I wanted to restore the old way, the way of knowledge, the way of dominance and station. Chris seemed to understand me, although we disagreed on methods. But recently," he took another step, clenching his fists, his eyes wild. "I am denied my plans by overwhelming thoughts of you. I plan attacks on a ministry that is not mine, all so I can try to get to you. Why, Hermione Granger, why is that?" His chest was heaving, and he lunged at her, brandishing his wand. She screamed, scrambling to get out of his grasp. A stunning spell ripped around the room, bouncing off several surfaces. Chris dove, tripped on a table leg, and hit his head on the ground hard.

Hermione clambered away, crawling through the doorway and back into the hall. Chris began to scream, loudly and without words, thrashing in the mess of spilled food on the ground. She leaned herself against the wall, panting, thinking desperately about what to do next.

Abruptly, the screaming stopped and he laid silently, curled up tightly in a ball, hair wild. She stayed crouched behind the door frame, listening to his soft whimpering noises. He didn't move for several long minutes. His wand was on the floor near him, and she felt brave enough to tiptoe to where it lay abandoned. She snatched it quickly and stood up, backing away and announcing shrilly, "it's over Chris. Whatever just happened, it's over."

He jolted visibly and rolled over. Leveraging himself on all fours, he looked up at her in disbelief. "Hermione?" His voice was different, breaking, painful. "Is that really you?" His eyes were wide.

"What're you playing at?" She asked, holding up the wand, arm shaking.

Chris slowly stood up, but stayed hunched over. "Oh no," he moaned, "oh no, Hermione. Did he take you?"

"You abducted me." She responded, brandishing the wand at him still.

"No, I didn't." He shook his head, still clutching it with both hands and avoiding her gaze. She knew that should stun him, knock him out. She should tie him up and run. But she couldn't help it- whatever she'd just witnessed was insane. And yet, he looked so… pathetic. Why collapse in a corner and let her have his wand? What was with the changes in pronouns? She had to understand.

Hermioned leveled a deep breath, and spoke in a steadier voice. "You have ten second to explain yourself, Chris, I swear."

"I'm not always me. These days I'm rarely me." For the first time since he began screaming, Chris looked at her. His eyes were softer, his frameless glasses completely askew. He looked mortified, haunted, and somehow seemed less angular and harsh. Subtle, so subtle.

She licked her lips, and used the wand to gesture to the chair. "Sit." He walked over timidly and sat. She flicked her wrist and ropes sprang up, binding him to it. For good measure she added a protective barrier between them. "Explain."

"About a year and a half ago, my team was contacted by the wizarding staff at Sorbonne University in Paris," he began quietly.

"Isn't that a Muggle school?"

"Yes, but a small, devoted group of alchemists study in the archives there, deep under an old building. The university has an ancient history of alchemy, dating back to the 12th century. There's reason to believe that alchemy has been practiced on that site even before the school was built, for over a thousand years.

"The wizards there reported that they were feeling the presence of protective magic they had never felt before, although their location of study had not varied. I theorized that it might have been the result of old hidden magic beginning to decay and triggering its own protective enchantments."

She cocked her head to the side, considering. "But what're the odds of something staying hidden in such an actively used space?"

"The alchemists doubted as well, but were so uncomfortable with the feeling of the rapidly changing magic that they eventually allowed me to investigate. I took a team of curse breakers, and we found the hidden labs within their old archives. I won't tell you the story now- but it was not easily done. Once we were in the room, the source of the decaying magic was obvious. An old crystal ball- an alchemist's orbuculum- sat utterly clean on one of the shelves, while everything else was coated in six inches of dust."

Hermione nodded, frowning. Chris was completely slumped in his chair. "It also felt… evil." He continued. "There's no other way to describe it. It was sickening. We performed the usual cautionary checks and tests to uncover its origin and meaning, thinking the feeling was a result of the decaying magic. Hermione, it felt so evil," he gulped, "but we thought we knew what was going on. I thought.. I knew..." He trailed off, shuddering.

"What happened?" She asked, intrigued despite herself.

"I began the procedure to disarm the decaying magic, invoking several spells of emotion. This relic was different though, and maybe I put too much of myself into it, because suddenly, I felt something happen that has never happened before: it began to pour back into me. The magic didn't break, like it usually does, it mutated. I felt like I was on fire, then I passed out."

"What?" She said sharply, voice cutting across the space aggressively. "Was the magic still in the relic?"

"Yes," he nodded, "It seemed stable again. It still felt… wrong, but my colleagues and I checked it thoroughly, and although still enchanted, it was no longer decaying. We assumed that although the procedure had not gone according to plan, the crisis was, at least temporarily, averted. The alchemists allowed us to bring the crystal ball back with us for observation."

"You didn't investigate any deeper?" She sniffed. "That seems very irresponsible."

He shrugged one shoulder, slightly abashed. "Maybe, but you know this field. The science isn't exactly… well exact."

"So then what?"

"I began to lose time." He looked haunted. "At first only a few minutes, here and there. Easily explainable, or at least avoidable. But the times became longer and longer, until, after about six months, it became hours at a time."

"What do you mean lose time?" She crossed her arms, frowning.

"Just not remembering. Opening my eyes and not remembering how I got to where I was, or how long I'd been there."

He paused, watching for her reaction. "That sounds frightening." She finally admitted.

"It was alarming, to be sure. It was several more months before I made the connection to the incident with the alchemists, and only because I came across the crystal ball again, still sitting on one of my shelves in my lab here. I tried to explain the situation to my coworkers, but my boss told me to take a vacation. I had Healers examine me, and they all said I was fine. I began to research; I was desperate to understand what could be happening. I never found anything that made sense, until… " He was slumped in the chair underneath the bindings, looking dejected. "Well... until you sent me an owl, asking about the stolen magics. It made me think of you, of the war you fought in, of the villian you faced. Suddenly, I knew. I remembered your story, and it all made sense."

Again, several long moments passed as she struggled to come to terms with the story he was presenting her. "Horcrux," she breathed, feeling shocked to her core.

He nodded, sadly. "Right in one. I believe I encountered not only the horcrux of a power-hungry ancient alchemist, but a horcrux that was in an advanced state of magical decay. I believe that in using the spells that I did, trying to disarm the decaying magic, I gave it an emotional conduit to latch its life force onto me."

"Holy shit, Chris!" She was breathing rapidly, shocked through. The world was spinning before her eyes. "I mean… Oh... Merlin."

"I didn't know," he pleaded with her. "I honestly didn't know that The Alchemist- that I- was doing anything dangerous until a couple of months ago. I thought maybe he was just trying to get his life back. I kept waking up and finding myself in these tunnels deep under Paris, so I explored. I discovered where he'd hoarded the explosives and other compressed, stored spells. I ran a few tests on them and understood what they were. I tried to turn myself in, but the story is insane. No one would believe me. I tried to lock myself up but The Alchemist always escaped.

"I was so desperate that I tried to write to you, but he intercepted the message. I don't remember most things that happen when he takes over, but I think that he has a vague idea of what I do. I don't think it's perfect, because it took him a long time to figure out the extraction of decaying magic. He had my notes, and he's obviously an intelligent man, but I don't think he has full access to my mind.

"I've been so focused on you, Hermione, because you know about horcruxes. I thought if anyone would believe me, help me, it would be you. Some of my subconscious must have bled through to his, because my hope became The Alchemist's obsession."

"He must have worked out that we used to date," Hermione reasoned slowly. "And that I work in your field. That's why he thought you wanted to contact me so desperately."

Chris nodded. "I do not know if he's figured out your history with You-Know-Who, or if he's even aware of those happenings or not. They were way after his time."

"How bad is it?" She asked, gesturing at him.

Chris let out a slow breath. "He's starting to need less and less time between possessions, I think." He averted her gaze. "I'm… I'm worried he'll take over completely... soon."

"I do know of an experience somewhat like this," Hermione said softly, "and that's exactly what almost happened. Although it was a different body, it would have sacrificed Ginny's- the victim's- life source in order for the horcrux to come back to life." She studied him. "Although, this is slightly different."

"You have to go, Hermione," Chris pleaded. "He probably didn't lock you up because he thinks he's fully taken over, but this is a lucky break. Please, you need to run!"

She took a deep breath and assessed him. "Where are we anyway?"

"I have a cabin. In a forest on the outskirts of Paris. I know we're not supposed to," he cleared his throat, "but I- erm- I have my own lab and a collection of relics from work here. I wasn't stealing them!" He added defensively at the look on her face. "But I was doing my own studies."

"Ok, I'm going to go explore this lab." Ignoring him, she spun on her heel and walked into the hall again.

The first door she opened in the hallway looked like another room, but the second one was clearly his home office. Although it was her first time stepping in the room, it immediately felt familiar. The walls were lined with shelves, stuffed with various relics that were meticulously stored and labeled. Chris had desks that sprawled with various instruments, all which Hermione recognized. In the far corner, a miniature potion station was arranged, complete with reference manuals and an alphabetized ingredient shelf.

She had two goals to accomplish, and the clock was ticking. First, to find the horcrux. She approached the shelves filled with artifacts and began to dig through the inventory, scanning tags as quickly as she could. Ron came again unbidden to her mind.

_***_

" _This is important, Mione: failed escapes usually result in retaliation." Ron leaned forward, placing his arms on his knees and examining her closely. "I'm serious about this. If you aren't positive you can get away, don't even try it. You risk making him angry, and he'll lock you up even more securely."_

_***_

Her hands closed around a heavy sphere and she read the label, whispering, "bingo." She stared at it, weighing her options. If she tried to escape and got caught with the horcrux, The Alchemist would know that she knew everything. The biggest advantage that she had right now was that The Alchemist thought his horcrux secret was safe. Was she willing to risk that? If he caught her, he would hide the crystal ball, and they might never find it again. Chris would be lost forever. She bit her lip, then slowly put the sphere back on the shelf, taking careful note of its location.

She whirled around, still listening hard. The only thing she could hear was her own heart beat. Time for the second goal: send a message. She found some bins at the end of the shelves and rummaged through those, pulling out handfuls of keychain sized talismans, frantically searching. Bravery, she needed things that symbolize bravery.

_***_

" _If you have the chance to send a message," Ron told her sternly, "you take that chance. In order to help you, Mione, I need to know what you know. Always prioritize your safety, obviously." He ran his hand down his face, looking worn. "I'm going to regret saying this, but you'll have to balance the risk in the moment. I've seen rescue operations blown just from a basic lack of information."_

_***_

Exclaiming excitedly, she pulled out three miniature hammers, and then crossed the room rapidly, coming to a stop by the main workbench. Hermione knew the nuances of this field. Even in an illegal, secret workshop, Chris would need to have regular correspondence with colleagues. She couldn't risk sending anything the normal way, since The Alchemist was clearly monitoring Chris's communication channels. She bit her lip, thinking hard. The Alchemist had managed to maintain the facade for over a year, so he can't have been stopping all of Chris's mail. She opened up drawers, rummaging through papers, finding a handful of half written letters.

Ron and Harry would have to enlist the help of another magical archaeologist, she reasoned. She was just going to have to guess which ones were most likely. She scanned the names as fast as she could, and pulled out three. To the bottom of each one, she wrote, 'Please see enclosed the Nordic sample of Thor's Hammer, which requires assessment by senior strategist RBW before being filed in the historical records for the Viking museum collection ID: FaH 19091979.' She signed the date in three days time, then tapped the wand to make the handwriting match Chris's.

She folded one hammer in each letter, sealed them, then crossed the room to where the owl was perched and quickly sent them off. Her hopes flew out the window with the owl; so much hinged on not only those letters being delivered, but the messages being decoded.

There was no time to stress. Her plan was in motion; it was either going to work or it wasn't.

_***_

" _How will you find me?" Hermione asked nervously._

" _This is the brilliant bit." Ron grinned at her. "I think we can use a Taboo Curse."_

" _What?" She asked. "Like during the war?"_

" _Yeah, we'll pick a word, and if you get taken you just say that word. No matter where you are, no matter how many protective spells he has up, I'll be able to find you."_

_***_

She could hear Chris before she saw him, as she jogged back into the dining room. "No!" He yelled. "No, I can feel him coming back. Run Hermione!" She flicked her wrist to release the barrier and the bonds. "Go lay down again."

"What?" He slammed his hands to his head, looking at her incredulously.

She pushed his wand into his hand. "First, stun me." She walked around back to the doorway, where she'd been when the episode started. "Right here. Stun me here, then put this wand next to you on the ground. With any luck, when The Alchemist takes over again, he won't know that we had this conversation."

"No," Chris backed up, then fell to his knees, screaming. He shook his head. "No, you have to run Hermione, get help!"

"I will Chris," she said seriously. "I will, I have a plan. I can't have your subconscious giving my plan away so you need to trust me."

"I can't," he stuttered, looking at her helplessly.

"Now, Chris."

He raised his wand. "Stupefy!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "What if horcrux magic decayed?" was the tiny idea that kicked off this entire fanfiction. I know a lot of weird theories and plots crossed paths in this chapter, and I'm a million percent sure that it's not perfectly executed. I have had so much fun writing it though, and I hope you enjoyed the ride. We still have a few more chapters to go!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter! I didn't know it until I wrote it, but here we are. Thank you for reading this far, and for being a part of this amazing journey. Happy reading!

Ron

_____

Ron bent over the bathroom sink, scrubbing his face with cold water. Turning the faucet off, he paused with his hands on either side of the vanity, and examined himself in the mirror. Droplets of water dripped slowly off his long nose, and clung greedily to the crevices of his freckled face. He looked tired and worn; he could see it on himself. Hermione had been captured almost two days ago, and he'd barely been able to sleep. Why hadn't she used the taboo like they'd discussed? She must have a plan. She must know how to defeat Chris. All while he was stuck here, doing nothing, helping no one. Frustrated, he slammed his fist into the counter and closed his eyes tight. In the interim, he'd arranged for another magical archaeologist to work as a consultant on the case. Her name was Vidya, and she was waiting in his office now. He blindly grabbed for a paper towel and dried his face off as best he could. He stood up fully, straightening his sleeves, then turned on his heel and exited the dingy shared office bathroom.

Vidya was standing by the tiny window behind his desk, dressed in a skinny cut black suit. Her jet black hair was tied in a low knot, and she was holding a short stack of files. "You must be Vidya," he stated, causing her to turn around. Her brown face was narrow, but friendly, and her dark eyes gleamed with intelligence. She smiled thinly, and he continued, "Ron Weasley, it's a pleasure to meet you."

She bowed her head slightly, and they exchanged spots as he strode behind his desk. She sat down at the chair in front of it. "Welcome to our team. Have you been able to review the case to date?"

She placed the stack of files down and nodded. "Yes, I have." She had a moderate Indian accent. "Ms. Granger's work is, as always, impeccable. I appreciate the level of detail and organization in your notes as well. I'm very sorry to hear that Mr. Durand has lost track of himself."

"You could call it that," Ron said stiffly. "I'd call it pure megalomania."

"Perhaps," she allowed. "You are closer to the case, but I have worked with Chris in the past, and I admit... I find this behavior surprising."

"You're not alone," he surmised. "Hermione felt the same way. I can only deal with what I know."

"As for that," Vidya opened the top file and extracted a piece of paper that was contained within a clear protective sleeve. "Before yesterday, before I learned of all this, I had regular correspondence with Chris. This is the last letter I received from him. What did you say your middle name was?"

Ron paused, taken aback. "Erm- Bilius."

"I hoped so," she affirmed, then handed him the document. "This is the last letter I got from Mr. Durand, only yesterday in fact, and I think you'll find the ending peculiar."

Ron read the content through the clear sleeve, then jumped up out of his chair. "RBW, that's‒"

"You, I'd hoped," Vidya interjected. "What's more is that I do not believe the style of the writing is consistent with Mr. Durand, despite the handwriting being a match. No, I think this is a coded message from Ms. Granger herself. I also came with this." She offered him a plastic bag which held a small talisman shaped like a hammer. "This is‒"

"Hold that thought," Ron said, holding up his index finger, and feeling as though his heart was expanding in his chest. "Just one second." He crossed his office again, and opened the door long enough to bark, "Potter, Patterson."

"What is it?" Patterson responded, as the two men entered the room, shutting the door behind them.

Ron sat down behind his desk again and conjured extra chairs. "Vidya here has some excellent news for us." He caught them up on the letter and allowed them to read it, before gesturing for Vidya to go on.

"As I was saying," she continued, glaring at Ron as though annoyed he'd interrupted her. "This is a Nordic pendant from approximately the 9th century, according to its provenance. It was included with the letter." Here, Vidya stopped to frown, before handing the artifact carefully over to Ron. "I am not sure why you need to examine it, as it has already been officially classified and documented."

Ron looked at it, feeling at a loss for words. He passed it over to Harry, ignoring Vidya's twitter of annoyance. "Please be careful," she said, as Harry handed it to Patterson.

"What does it mean?" Harry asked her.

"Muggle historians associate Mjolnir with ideas such as protection, power, and strength," she explained, carefully accepting the relic back from Patterson and laying it delicately on the desk. "This was a religious talisman for the times, often used in ceremonies such as weddings and funerals."

"What about wizards?" Ron asked.

"Less is known," Vidya admitted. "We recognize that Viking wizards certainly loved enchanting Mjolnir talismans with protection spells, and often wore them as symbols of their fortitude in dueling."

Harry and Ron looked at each other, and Ron shook his head. "I have no idea, mate."

"Let's go through the message again," Harry suggested.

Ron picked up his wand and jabbed it at the chalkboard behind him, causing the code to write itself there.

_Please see enclosed the Nordic sample of Thor's Hammer, which requires assessment by senior strategist RBW before being filed in the historical records for the Viking museum collection ID: FaH 19091979._

"None of that makes any sense," Patterson complained. "Except for the reference to you, Ron."

Ron shook his head calmly. "The last part is her birthday."

"What?" Harry exclaimed, looking at the board again. "Merlin, Ron, you're right."

"It doesn't really help though, does it?" Ron said doubtfully, swiveling his chair to look at the message himself. "I think it just confirms that it did come from her."

"If it helps," Vidya supplied, "the wording that she uses here is very typical for this type of correspondence. Was she trying to sneak this message out, perhaps?"

"Fair point," Patterson agreed. "She needed to adopt language that wouldn't raise a flag, if the mail was being searched."

"Assuming that's true," Ron said slowly, never taking his eyes off the board. "Then the only clue I can see in this message is that it specifically asks for me."

"Probably because you were the one she was working with," Vidya said dismissively.

"Maybe," said Harry, but Ron knew what he was thinking. That Hermione felt especially attached to Ron, given their current romantic entanglement.

"Or," Patterson cleared his throat. "What can you do that no one else can do?"

This time Ron did turn around, looking directly at his boss, feeling a surge of excitement. "That's bloody brilliant."

"What is?" Vidya asked, confused.

"You read the case notes, right?" Ron asked her. "I can sometimes feel the remnants of magic, understand the emotions or foundational aspects of it." Vidya's stern frown grew the longer he spoke. Ron sighed. "I know it shouldn't be possible, and I know it's not scientific, but you can admit that some people are more intuitive with magic than others, right?" She nodded jerkily. "So do you want to take it out of the packaging, or shall I?"

"I must protest," Vidya said rigidly. "This is most unusual."

"You heard him," Patterson grunted. "Either you do it or we will."

Vidya looked around, stressed, and Ron leaned forward in his seat. "Hey," he said softly, and captured her eye contact. "I promise I'll barely touch it, and for the shortest amount of time I can," he consoled. "Please help us Vidya. This could save Hermione."

She nodded in defeat. "I can hardly deny you that request, can I?" She mumbled grumpily, but unbagged the fist sized pendant all the same. Ron took a deep breath, then laid his hand gently on the talisman. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, focusing on centering himself and his connection to the object. He felt his heartbeat slow down, and all the other noises in the room seemed to drop away. Then faintly, he could taste the slightest metallic tinge, and almost hear the clashing of swords. There, in the center of the other sensations, he could feel it.

His eyes snapped open. "I feel courage and bravery," he reported. As soon as he moved his hand away, Vidya carefully covered the relic again.

Patterson let out a slow breath. "I have no idea what to do with that."

"I might," Ron said. "Could it have to do with Gryffindor?"

"I immediately thought of that too," Harry confessed. "It doesn't really make any sense either, though, does it? What does Gryffindor have to do with this case?"

"That seems like a stretch, boys," Patterson said.

"That's a Hogwarts house, right?" Vidya asked. "Bravery is a trait of one of the houses?"

"Yes, the house that all three of us were in," Harry explained.

"It was actually a significant part of our history, of the entire war," Ron said thoughtfully. "Harry and Hermione went to Godric's Hollow, which is where Gryffindor was born, and where Harry's family lived."

"Why did you need to go there?" Vidya asked.

"Ah, well, I wanted to visit my parents' graves," Harry said truthfully, looking a little ashamed and running his hands through his messy hair. "Although I convinced Hermione it was to look for the sword." Suddenly, Harry turned to peer at Ron. "The sword," Harry repeated.

"What sword?" Patterson asked.

"Gryffindor's Sword," Ron replied, staring back at Harry with wide eyes. "But, why would she want the sword?" Ron asked him. "You don't think... she can't have found a…" They looked at each other.

"What did you figure out?" Patterson barked. "Share with the class."

"During the war, we used the sword to destroy horcruxes," Harry explained, turning to look at Patterson and Vidya. "Those are the dark magical objects that stored pieces of Voldemort's soul, essentially allowing him immortality."

"Very few things can destroy a horcrux," Ron said. "Gryffindor's sword is one of them."

"So you think she found a horcrux?" Vidya asked, shuddering at the word. "You-Know-Who?"

"No," Harry shook his head firmly. "He is definitely dead. So maybe a different one?"

"But how does that explain Chris?" Ron asked, thinking as hard as he could. The room was silent.

"I don't know," Harry shook his head again. "I really don't."

"It doesn't matter," Ron said firmly. "Yes, I'd love more details, but she's managed to tell us to bring the sword and to be prepared for a horcrux. What was the day on the message again?"

He directed the question to Vidya, who referenced the letter. "Tomorrow."

Ron looked at Patterson. "Assuming that date is when Hermione's planning to use the taboo, we need to make sure that we have teams on standby, prepared to deploy with an instant's notice, and we need to make sure we have Gryffindor's Sword."

"Agree," Patterson said, rising. "I'll arrange it with our Auror teams."

"I'll get the sword," Harry said, rising as well. "I can go to Hogwarts tonight. I think it's still in McGonagall's office."

Ron nodded his thanks as they both left the room, then he turned his attention to Vidya again. "Let's talk about these spells that Chris used in his escape. How do you think he did that?"

_____

Hermione

_____

When she awoke in the early hours of her third morning in captivity, Hermione felt two things in her stomach: overwhelming hunger and a bundle of rolling stress. Today was the day. She'd executed a lot of half baked plans in her life, but this one was particularly unnerving. There were so many variables, and she was sure something would go wrong.

After she'd allowed Chris to stun her so that The Alchemist would wake up alone, he'd revived her and walked her quickly back to her room. The Alchemist had flourished and made excuses for his behavior, and then pushed her into her room and locked the door. She'd been secured in here ever since, without food or water. She was actually very thankful for the old chamberpot in the corner. She hypothesized that The Alchemist knew Chris could still take over, and despite seeming to buy the story that Hermione didn't know his secret, he was exercising caution in keeping her under lock and key, until the time arrived when he knew the transition was complete.

Only once more, late last night, she'd heard the real Chris outside her door. He had been sobbing, trying to undo the complicated magical lock to let her out. She'd shushed him and sent him away. The Alchemist couldn't know that she knew his secret. It was reassuring that Chris wasn't totally lost yet, and she sincerely hoped that he could hold on just one more day.

She had another hypothesis: when the horcrux decayed, it compromised the sanity of The Alchemist. He might be about to successfully bring himself back to life after being dead for over a millennium, but she theorized that the corroded magic of the horcrux was attempting to do something it wasn't intended to: take over a body which already housed a fully intact soul. The emotional conduit was draining the life force of one to the other, but the effort of the warped magic was wearing on The Alchemist's sanity. The longer this process took, and it had been going on for over a year, the less stable he became.

She could hear him, as she laid locked away, talking to himself. His motives seemed disjointed, and his actions misaligned. She was sure that he was still a powerful and learned alchemist, but his reasoning and emotions were incoherent. Twice he'd stood right outside her door and yelled, both at her and at himself, about the recognition he deserved and her confusing role in it. She had sat quietly, shivering, hoping with everything she had that he would simply leave, and breathing a sigh of relief when he finally did.

She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, stretching. Hermione took a deep breath, then stood up. She was a little woozy from thirst, but it was time to stop procrastinating. At this point, there was no way to check if her plan was working or not. She slowly walked to the door, trying to calm the squirming of her guts. "Chris," she shouted, "can I talk to you?"

She heard banging off far away, and then silence. "Chris," she yelled again. The door slammed open, and she took a step back.

The Alchemist- she was sure it was him, his eyes looked so harsh- stood in the doorway, physically still meticulously groomed, despite his mental decline. "Yes?" He asked, polite, but firm.

"Water," she pleaded. "It's been over 24 hours, I think. Water, please, and food." She made eye contact with him, trying to look pathetic. Given that she hadn't been able to practice hygiene at all in two days, she imagined it wasn't that hard to do.

He studied her suspiciously. "Very well, come." She followed him into the hall, past the door to his lab, where she knew the horcrux was, and into the now clean dining room at the end. "Wait here," he said, then ducked through a small entryway into what was likely a kitchen. Before she could even consider if she should make a move back towards the lab, he entered the room again and thrust at her a glass of water and a plate with a cold cut sandwich on it.

She sat down quickly and began to eat, genuinely hungry. She tried to take small bites and sips, so she wouldn't make herself sick. The Alchemist stood with his arms crossed, watching her carefully. She ate for several minutes, deciding to take advantage of the moment. When she was done, he whisked the plate away and sent it flying into the kitchen with his wand.

"What are you working on?" She asked him, before he could force her back into the room.

"Just studying," he responded, gesturing for her to stand.

She rose slowly. "Can I help you? You know that I'm quite good at studying."

He looked her up and down. "Why?"

"Mental stimulation," she invented. "If I'm going to be here, I don't want my brain to go to waste."

"Yes," he said slowly, "keeping intellectually challenged. That makes sense." The Alchemist nodded appreciatively, then studied her again. She stood quite still, waiting for his assessment. "Yes," he repeated, "you may join me." He left the room to go back to the lab.

Hermione followed him slowly, finding the door to the lab slightly ajar. She stepped inside, looking around. The Alchemist stood by the table of instruments, tinkering with one that was smoking a pale purple color and referencing a huge volume next to him.

"Lavender can mean a couple of things," she ventured carefully. He stopped moving, and snapped his olive eyes to hers. "It could indicate flora, so whatever sample you're assessing might be based in earthy or plant magic." She took a brave step forward, her voice growing more confident. "It could also mean calmness or serenity, depending on the nature of the sample. May I?" She asked, gesturing at the tool.

He stepped aside, and she fiddled some knobs expertly. The smoke turned a slightly darker color. She stepped back and assessed it. "I'm leaning towards the emotional indicator, but we should analyze its reaction with Valerian Root to be sure." She snuck a look at The Alchemist, who gestured impatiently for her to back up. She stepped away, and he turned to the potions set up in the corner, rummaging through the ingredients bins.

Hermione tried to back up slowly, inching towards the shelf where she knew the crystal ball was. She nearly jumped when he spoke up, "you are not untalented."

"Erm, thank you," she squeaked, standing motionless again. She was still at least ten meters away from the horcrux.

"I could teach you, you know," he turned around, a small container clutched in his hand. "The art of containing your spells. I could teach you."

"That sounds quite dangerous," she replied tentatively.

He waved his hand at her dismissively and moved towards the still smoking instrument. "Only for the untalented."

She began inching slowly backwards again, trying to keep a stream of conversation. "I've always admired your capacity for learning new things, Chris."

He chuckled melodically, but studiously kept his gaze locked on his task. Hermione continued her slow, cautious pace. "You like strong men," he boasted.

"Yes," she admitted. "But do you know what I like even more?"

He looked up at her finally, his face changing from curiosity to rage as he realized she'd moved across the room. "What are you doing?" He demanded.

She grinned. "Firebolts-and-hippogriffs."

Many things happened at once. Resounding cracks echoed across the house from all directions, and people directly outside their haven began to shout. Bursts of light exploded in the windows, and Hermione wheeled around to wrap her hands firmly on the crystal ball. The Alchemist screamed with rage, and brandished his wand at her.

Without warning, Hermione flew roughly backwards through the wall of the house, screaming and barely keeping her grip on the horcrux. She landed in a pile of splintered wood and glass, groaning weakly. In the settling dust, she saw the silhouette of a man steadily approaching her. She shifted, trying and failing to get to her feet.

"I wondered if you knew," The Alchemist's voice rang out. "I was afraid you'd witnessed my little… episode." He waved his wand and she was jerked into the air, suspended upside down. She heard Ron shouting her name, and tried to crane her neck to find him.

"I have more than protective wards guarding this sanctum," The Alchemist bragged. "I'm afraid your Auror will find entry here quite, shall we say, volatile."

Upside down, clutching the horcrux to her chest, Hermione was dangled in a slow circle. One side of the house had been entirely blown off, and they were nestled in a small clearing of a forest, surrounded by trees and various greenery. She watched, terrified, as dozens of Aurors from all directions moved in formation. They threw patterns of spells at the perimeter of the home, setting off multitudes of explosions. She choked on a sob of relief as she realized what they were doing. They'd come with a plan, staying safe distances from the unknown terrain and intentionally detonating the hidden magical bombs from behind their own protective shields.

The Alchemist made a noise of irritation, and Hermione was turned to face him again. "It will still be too long before they can get to you," he ridiculed. He was angular and sharp, his appearance harsh. Hermione wondered how she'd ever thought this man could possibly be Chris. He'd stolen the face, but the man within distorted the image without.

"Hermione!" She could hear Ron shouting again, closer than ever.

"Just give me the orriculum, and I will let you live," The Alchemist's voice danced, a striking contrast to his angry features.

"No," she shouted. He hissed and flicked his wrist to send her flying; she landed hard on the ground, the wind knocked out of her. She struggled to stand up, to run. Before she could manage it, she was flipped upside down into the air again.

"Give it to me," The Alchemist demanded furiously.

"Ron," she cried out; and heard him roar protectively in response. He was so close to her. She just had to stall a little bit more, she thought desperately. Her head was pounding with blood from being upside down for so long. The Alchemist dropped her hard to the ground with a sickening crunch, and picked her back up into the air. She clung fearfully to the crystal ball, feeling her ankle throb angrily.

"You insolent child." The Alchemist was truly outraged now, all pretenses of false propriety dropped. He yelled angrily, spittle flying. Hermione rose higher and higher into the air. Ten meters, fifteen meters, twenty meters. "Drop the orriculum," he spat. "There is no one here to help you."

"The thing is," Hermione called down, smiling sweetly, "there's one fact I know above all others." She was so dizzy now, already weak from her time in captivity. "Something that a man like you will never understand." The edges of her world were turning black, and her vision was narrowing rapidly. She spun back around slowly, able to meet those watery, callous eyes. She shrugged as much as she could while upside down. "Ron will always be here to help me." She threw the crystal ball as hard as she could towards Ron, shouting, "incoming horcrux!"

The Alchemist was disdainful, watching it fall on the ground between them and the fighting Aurors. "If you know what that is, then you know it can't be destroyed like that."

With a casual flick, he released the spell on Hermione, and she plummeted towards the ground. She was too tired to even close her eyes, watching the world blur around her.

"Arresto momentum!" That was Ron's voice, she thought tiredly, her descent abruptly halted only inches from the ground. She was lowered gently, and rolled over, trying to see the crystal ball, hoping that she'd done enough. She felt Ron's large hands check for her pulse, before she heard his sigh of relief.

The Alchemist strode quickly towards the orb, but stopped abruptly at a loud shout. "Oi, peabrain."

He froze, and Ron took several large strides towards him, away from Hermione's prone form. "What did you just call me?" The Alchemist asked threateningly.

"Worse than that before the night is over," Ron replied, cocky. "Stupify!"

The Alchemist turned to quickly throw up a shield charm. The two dueled, exchanging spells and curses in a whirlwind of yells and colored streaks of magic. The battle was rapid and all consuming, and more than once Hermione felt her heart constrict with fear. Ron was hit with something bright orange, then collapsed. The Alchemist roared with delight and strode over to his victim.

"What did I tell you, Auror Weasley," he mocked, as Ron struggled to sit up. "You are no match for me."

"I know," Ron replied, shrugging one shoulder. "But I distracted you long enough for Harry to get here."

The Alchemist laughed derisively. "Not even the famous Harry Potter is a match for me."

"Is that right?" Harry asked, causing both men to turn and look at him. He was standing over the horcrux, Gryffindor's Sword raised in his hand. "I'm the bleeding Chosen One, mate." He brought the sword down on the crystal ball, which gave a blood curdling shriek and released a black mushroom cloud of smoke. The Alchemist fell to his knees, screaming as well, and then began to convulse wildly. He collapsed in a whimpering pile, to which the Aurors descended rapidly.

Seconds later, Ron was on his knees next to Hermione. "Hey," he said gently, concerned blue eyes swimming into her view. She smiled contentedly.

"Hi," she replied. "I think my leg is broken."

He glanced at it, wincing. "Yes, I think so too." He cupped her face lightly. "Are you ok? You look like hell."

"I'm just going to lay here for awhile, if that's ok," she replied.

He brought her hand gently to his lips and kissed it. "Anything you want." He signaled for a Healer.

"Don't go too hard on Chris," she said weakly. "That horcrux was possessing him, kind of like Ginny and the Diary."

"I'm sure we'll work it out," Ron said consolingly, pushing sweaty curls off of her forehead. "You were so brave, to be here for three days, all on your own."

"I knew you would be here when I needed you," she gripped his hand back as tightly as she could manage. "You always are." He smiled softly at her, which she returned. "Why did you give Harry the sword?" She asked.

"I told Harry if I had to choose between the horcrux and you, it was always going to be you," he explained, his ears tingeing the slightest shade of pink. "It seemed more strategic to let him keep his undivided attention on that task, so I could focus on mine."

"Me?" She asked. He nodded. "Did I ever tell you that I really like your beard?"

Ron threw back his head and laughed out loud. "You are a wonderful woman." Hermione was sure she smelled and looked atrocious. She was exhausted and in distracting amounts of pain, but still, she beamed happily at the man hovering over her so concernedly. This frustrating, sexy, tedious, loyal man.

She tugged on the front of his shirt as the Healers began to descend around her. "Kiss me."

Grinning, he obliged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is completely finished, and if you have made it this far, I adore you. The rest of the text here is self indulgent ramblings, which you are free to read or ignore as you see fit. I will be fully honest with you, Reader. I did not outline and plan this story as well as I might have, instead opting to write and post the loose plot in my head one chapter at a time. Of course, this led to some inconsistencies, but I figured I could accept those imperfections, since this is a hobby for me. The product, I hoped, would be my flawed release of creativity into the Harry Potter community that I love so much.
> 
> I learned a lot of things during this process. I learned that I probably should invest more time in planning upfront. If there’s a next time, I’d write the entire story before I post any of it. I might consider engaging a beta reader. I learned that nice reviews, kudos, bookmarks, follows, and favorites are the lifeblood of fanfiction writers, while bad reviews are very discouraging, regardless of their intention.
> 
> I know when you create something and put it out into the world, you have to accept what people might think of it. It’s fair game for critique, praise, ambivalence, or indifference. What I don't know, however, is if I enjoy the anticipation in waiting for those reactions, or the feelings invoked by receiving the less than positive ones. (The comments in question are not A03.) Yes, I acknowledge it’s part of the gig, but I’m not entirely sure it’s great for my mental health. 
> 
> Please understand that this isn’t about guilt, chastisement, pity, compliments, etc. I just need to acknowledge the effects of this experience on my own mental well being. Do not feel obligated to address this end-of-story rhetoric. I want to thoroughly reiterate how exciting writing again has been for me. I genuinely enjoyed all the comments, kudos, likes, views, etc. Every single one. 
> 
> I do have what I think is a really interesting and fun idea for another AU Romione, but I’m also having some anxiety when I consider writing it. I will work through what that means for me, but in the meantime, stay safe and healthy in the chaos that is 2020, and thank you, sincerely, for reading my first fanfic/piece of writing since I was a high school junior in 2006. I’m not not sure if or when I’ll be back, but I appreciate you, dear Reader, for coming along for the ride.


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